BUCKY   LEAPED  INTO    THE  FIBEGLOW  AND  WBESTED  THE  KIDING-WHIP  FROM  HIS 

HAND. 

Frontispiece.    Page  90. 


BUCKY 
O'CONNOR 

A  Tale  of  the  Unfenced  Border 

BY 

WILLIAM  MacLEOD  RAINE 

AUTHOR  OF 

WYOMING,  A  TEXAS  RANGER, 
RIDGWAY  OF  MONTANA,  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

CLARHNCE    RQWE 


GRO55ET   &  DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  NEW    YORK 


COPYRIGHT,    1907,   BY 
STREET    &    SMITH. 

COPYRIGHT,  1910,  BY 
G.    W.    DILLJNGHAM    COMPANY. 


Bvcky 


To  My  Brother 
EDGAR  C.  RAINE 

MY  DEAR  WANDERER: 

I  write  your  name  on  this  page  that  you  may 
know  we  hold  you  not  less  in  our  thoughts  because 
you  have  heard  and  answered  again  the  call  of 
the  frozen  North,  have  for  the  time  disappeared, 
swallowed  in  some  of  its  untrodden  wilds.  As  in 
those  old  days  of  59  Below  On  Bonanza,  the  long 
Winter  night  will  be  of  interminable  length. 
Armed  with  this  note  of  introduction  then,  Bucky 
O'Connor  offers  himself,  with  the  best  bow  of  one 
Adventurer  to  another,  as  a  companion  to  while 
away  some  few  of  those  lonely  hours. 

March,  1910,  Denver* 


CM 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  Enter  ''Bear-Trap"  Collins      .         .         9 

II.  Taxation  Without  Representation     .       18 

III.  The  Sheriff  Introduces  Himself       .       33 

IV.  A  Bluff  is  Called    ....       50 

V.  Bucky  Entertains    .         .         .         .       78 

VI.  Bucky  Makes  a  Discovery        .         .       89 

VII.  In  the  Land  of  Revolutions      .         .113 

VIII.  First  Blood!    .         .         .         .         .124 

IX.  "Adore  Has  Only  One  D"      .         .     146 

X.  The  Hold-Up  of  the  M.  C.  P.  Flyer     161 
XL  "Stone    Walls    Do    Not    a    Prison 

Make" 171 

XII.  A  Clean  White  Man's  Option  .         .192 

XIII.  Bucky's  First-Rate  Reasons     .         .     203 

XIV.  Le  Roi  Est  Mort ;  Vive  Le  Roi        .     214 

XV.  In  the  Secret  Chamber    .         .         .     232 

XVI.  Juan  Valdez  Scores        .         .         .248 

XVII.  Hidden  Valley        ....     257 

XVIII.  A  Dinner  for  Three        .         .         .276 

XIX.  A  Villon  of  the  Desert    .         .         .290 

XX.  Back  to  God's  Country    .  .     306 
XXL  The  Wolf  Pack      .         .         ,         .321 
XXII.  For  a  Good  Reason        -         .        „     337 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Bucky  leaped  into  the  fireglow  and  wrested  the 

riding-whip  from  his  hand  .  .  .  Frontispiece  90 

Was  this  vivid,  dazzling  creature  the  boy?     .     .     .      107 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  steadily  in  a 
long  silence 274 

He  pitched  forward,  his  arm  around  the  horse's  neck  330 


Bucky  O'Connor 

CHAPTER  I. 
ENTER  "BEAR-TRAP"  COLLINS. 

SHE  had  been  aware  of  him  from  the  moment 
of  his  spectacular  entrance,  though  no  slight- 
est sign  of  interest  manifested  itself  in  her 
indolent,  incurious  eyes.    Indeed,  his  abundant  and 
picturesque  area  was  so  vivid  that  it  would  have 
been  difficult  not  to  feel  his  presence  anywhere,  let 
alone  on  a  journey  so  monotonous  as  this  was  prov- 
ing to  be. 

It  had  been  at  a  water-tank,  near  Socorro,  that 
the  Limited,  churning  furiously  through  brown 
Arizona  in  pursuit  of  a  lost  half-hour,  jarred  to  a 
sudden  halt  that  shook  sleep  from  the  drowsy  eyes 
of  bored  passengers.  Through  the  window  of  her 
Pullman  the  young  woman  in  Section  3  had 
glimpsed  a  bevy  of  angry  train  officials  eddying 
around  a  sturdy  figure  in  the  center,  whose  strong, 
lean  head  rose  confidently  above  the  press.  There 
was  the  momentary  whirl  of  a  scuffle,  out  of  the 
tangle  of  which  shot  a  brakeman  as  if  propelled 
from  a  catapult.  The  circle  parted,  brushed  aside 
by  a  pair  of  lean  shoulders,  muscular  and  broad. 
Yet  a  few  moments  and  the  owner  of  the  shoulders 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


led  down  the  aisle  to  the  vacant  section  opposite 
her  a  procession  whose  tail  was  composed  of  pro- 
testing trainmen. 

"You  had  no  right  to  flag  the  train,  Sheriff  Col- 
lins, and  you'll  have  to  get  off;  that's  all  there  is 
to  it,"  the  conductor  was  explaining  testily. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  returned  the  offender  with 
easy  good  nature,  making  himself  at  home  in  Sec- 
tion 4.  "Tell  the  company  to  send  in  its  bill.  No 
use  jawing  about  it." 

"You'll  have  to  get  off,  sir." 

"That's  right— at  Tucson." 

"No,  sir.  You'll  have  to  get  off  here.  I  have  no 
authority  to  let  you  ride." 

"Didn't  I  hear  you  say  the  train  was  late  ?  Don't 
you  think  you'd  arrive  earlier  at  the  end  of  your 
run  if  your  choo-choo  got  to  puffing?" 

"You'll  have  to  get  off,  sir." 

"I  hate  to  disoblige,"  murmured  the  owner  of 
the  jingling  spurs,  the  dusty  corduroys,  and  the 
big,  gray  hat,  putting  his  feet  leisurely  on  the 
cushion  in  front  of  him.  "But  doesn't  it  occur  to 
you  that  you  are  a  man  of  one  idea?" 

"This  is  the  Coast  Limited.  It  doesn't  stop  for 
anybody — not  even  for  the  president  of  the  road." 

"You  don't  say !  Well,  I  ce'tainly  appreciate  the 
honor  you  did  me  in  stopping  to  take  me  on."  His 
slight  drawl  was  quite  devoid  of  concern. 

"But  you  had  no  right  to  flag  the  train.  Can't 
you  understand  anything?"  groaned  the  conductor. 

10 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"You  explain  it  again  to  me,  sonny.  I'm  surely 
thick  in  the  haid,"  soothed  the  intruder,  and  lis- 
tened with  bland  good-humor  to  the  official's  flo\y 
of  protest. 

"Well — well!  Disrupted  the  whole  transconti- 
nental traffic,  didn't  I?  And  me  so  innocent,  too. 
Now,  this  is  how  I  figured  it  out.  Here's  me  in  a 
hurry  to  get  to  Tucson.  Here  comes  your  train 
a-foggin' — also  and  likewise  hittin'  the  high  spots 
for  Tucson.  Seemed  like  we  ought  to  travel  in 
company,  and  I  was  some  dubious  she'd  forget  to 
stop  unless  I  flagged  her.  Wherefore,  I  aired  my 
bandanna  in  the  summer  breeze." 

"But  you  don't  understand."  The  conductor  be- 
gan to  explain  anew  as  to  a  dull  child.  "It's  against 
the  law.  You'll  get  into  trouble." 

"Put  me  in  the  calaboose,  will  they?" 

"It's  no  joke." 

"Well,  it  does  seem  to  be  worrying  you,"  Mr. 
Collins  conceded.  "Don't  mind  me.  Free  your 
mind  proper." 

The  conductor,  glancing  about  nervously,  noticed 
that  passengers  were  smiling  broadly.  His  official 
dignity  was  being  chopped  to  mince-meat.  Back 
came  his  harassed  gaze  to  the  imperturbable  Col- 
lins with  the  brown,  sun-baked  face  and  the  eyes 
blue  and  untroubled  as  an  Arizona  sky.  Out  of  a 
holster  attached  to  the  sagging  belt  that  circled 
the  corduroy  trousers  above  his  hips  gleamed  the 
butt  of  a  revolver.  But  in  the  last  analysis  the 

II 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


weapon  of  the  occasion  was  purely  a  moral  one. 
The  situation  was  one  not  covered  in  the  company's 
rule  book,  and  in  the  absence  of  explicit  orders  the 
trainman  felt  himself  unequal  to  that  unwavering 
gaze  and  careless  poise.  Wherefore,  he  retreated, 
muttering  threats  of  what  the  company  would  do. 

"Now,  if  I  had  only  known  it  was  against  the 
law.  My  thick  haid's  always  roping  trouble  for 
me/*  the  plainsman  confided  to  the  Pullman  con- 
ductor, with  twinkling  eyes.  » 

That  official  unbent.  "Talking  about  thick  heads, 
I'm  glad  my  porter  has  one.  If  it  weren't  iron- 
plated  and  copper-riveted  he'd  be  needing  a  doctor 
now,  the  way  you  stood  him  on  it." 

"No,  did  I?  Ce'tainly  an  accident.  The  nig- 
ger must  have  been  in  my  way  as  I  climbed  into  the 
car.  Took  the  kink  out  of  his  hair,  you  say?  Here, 
Sam!"  He  tossed  a  bill  to  the  porter,  who  was 
rolling  affronted  eyes  at  him.  "Do  you  reckon  this 
is  big  enough  to  plaster  your  injured  feelings,  boy?" 

The  white  smile  flashed  at  him  by  the  porter 
was  a  receipt  for  indemnity  paid  in  full. 

Sheriff  Collins'  perception  of  his  neighbor  across 
the  aisle  was  more  frank  in  its  interest  than  the 
girl's  had  been  of  him.  The  level,  fearless  gaze 
of  the  outdoors  West  looked  at  her  unabashed,  ap- 
preciating swiftly  her  points  as  they  impinged 
themselves  upon  his  admiration.  The  long,  lithe 
lines  of  the  slim,  supple  body,  the  languid  grace 
missing  hauteur  only  because  that  seemed  scare 

12 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


worth  while,  the  unconscious  pride  of  self  that 
fails  to  be  offensive  only  in  a  young  woman  so 
well  equipped  with  good  looks  as  this  one  indubit- 
ably was — the  rider  of  the  plains  had  appraised 
".hem  all  before  his  eyes  dismissed  her  from  his 
consideration  and  began  a  casual  inspection  of  the 
other  passengers. 

Inside  of  half  an  hour  he  had  made  himself 
persona  grata  to  everybody  in  the  car  except  his 
dark-eyed  neighbor  across  the  way.  That  this  dis- 
penser of  smiles  and  cigars  decided  to  leave  her  out 
in  the  distribution  of  his  attentions  perhaps  spoke 
well  for  his  discernment.  Certainly  responsiveness 
to  the  geniality  of  casual  fellow  passengers  did  not 
impress  Mr.  Collins  as  likely  to  be  an  outstanding 
quality  in  her.  But  with  the  drummer  from  Chi- 
cago, the  young  mining  engineer  going  to  Sonora, 
the  two  shy  little  English  children  just  in  front 
of  him  traveling  to  meet  their  father  in  California, 
he  found  intuitively  common  ground  of  interest. 
Even  Major  Mackenzie,  the  engineer  in  charge  of 
the  large  irrigation  project  being  built  by  a  com- 
pany in  southern  Arizona,  relaxed  at  one  of  the 
plainsman's  humorous  tales. 

It  was  after  Collins  had  half -depopulated  the  car 
by  leading  the  more  jovial  spirits  back  in  search  of 
liquid  refreshments  that  an  urbane  clergyman,  now 
of  Boston  but  formerly  of  Pekin,  Illinois,  pro- 
fessedly much  interested  in  the  sheriff's  touch-and- 
go  manner  as  presumably  quite  characteristic  of  the 

13 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


West,  dropped  into  the  vacant  seat  beside  Major 
Mackenzie. 

"And  who  might  our  energetic  friend  be?"  he 
asked,  with  an  ingratiating  smile. 

The  young  woman  in  front  of  them  turned  her 
head  ever  so  slightly  to  listen. 

"Val  Collins  is  his  name,"  said  the  major. 
"Sometimes  called  'Bear-trap  Collins.'  He  has  al- 
ways lived  on  the  frontier.  At  least,  I  met  him 
twelve  years  ago  when  he  was  riding  mail  between 
Aravaipa  and  Mesa.  He  was  a  boy  then,  cer- 
tainly not  over  eighteen,  but  in  a  desperate  fight  he 
had  killed  two  men  who  tried  to  hold  up  the  mail. 
Cow-puncher,  stage-driver,  miner,  trapper,  sheriff, 
rough  rider,  politician — he's  past  master  at  them 
alt" 

"And  why  the  appellation  of  'Bear-trap,'  may  1 
ask?"  The  smack  of  pulpit  oratory  was  not  often 
missing  in  the  edifying  discourse  of  the  Reverend 
Peter  Melancthon  Brooks. 

"Well,  sir,  that's  a  story.  He  was  trapping  in 
the  Tetons  about  five  years  ago  thirty  miles  from 
the  nearest  ranch-house.  One  day,  while  he  was 
setting  a  bear-trap,  a  slide  of  snow  plunged  down 
from  the  tree  branches  above  and  freed  the  spring, 
catching  his  hand  between  its  jaws.  With  his  feet 
and  his  other  hand  he  tried  to  open  that  trap  for 
four  hours,  without  the  slightest  success.  There 
was  not  one  chance  in  a  million  of  help  from  out- 
side. In  point  of  fact,  Collins  had  not  seen  a  human 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


being  for  a  month.  There  was  only  one  thing  to 
do,  and  he  did  it." 

"And  that  was?" 

"You  probably  noticed  that  he  wears  a  glove 
over  his  left  hand.  The  reason,  sir,  is  that  he  has 
an  artificial  hand." 

"You  mean "  The  Reverend  Peter  paused 

to  lengthen  his  delicious  thrill  of  horror. 

"Yes,  sir.  That's  just  what  I  mean.  He  hacked 
his  hand  off  at  the  wrist  with  his  hunting-knife." 

"Why,  the  man's  a  hero!"  cried  the  clergyman, 
with  unction. 

Mackenzie  flung  him  a  disgusted  look.  "We 
don't  go  much  on  heroes  out  here.  He's  game,  if 
that's  what  you  mean.  And  able,  too.  Bucky 
O'Connor  himself  isn't  any  smarter  at  following  a 
trail." 

"And  who  is  Bucky  O'Connor?" 

"He's  the  man  that  just  ran  down  Fernendez. 
Think  I'll  have  a  smoke,  sir.  Care  to  join  me?" 

But  the  Pekin-Bostonian  preferred  to  stay  and 
jot  down  in  his  note-book  the  story  of  the  bear- 
trap,  to  be  used  later  as  a  sermon  illustration.  This 
may  have  been  the  reason  he  did  not  catch  the  quick 
look  that  passed  without  the  slightest  flicker  of  the 
eyelids  between  Major  Mackenzie  and  the  young 
woman  in  Section  3.  It  was  as  if  the  old  officer 
had  wired  her  a  message  in  some  code  the  cipher 
of  which  was  known  only  to  them. 

But  the  sheriff,   returning  at  the  head   of  his 

15 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


cohorts,  caught  it,  and  wondered  what  meaning 
might  lie  back  of  that  swift  glance.  Major  Mac- 
kenzie and  this  dark-eyed  beauty  posed  before 
others  as  strangers,  yet  between  them  lay  some 
freemasonry  of  understanding  to  which  he  had  not 
the  key. 

Collins  did  not  know  that  the  aloofness  in  the 
eyes  of  Miss  Wainwright — he  had  seen  the  name 
on  her  suit-case — gave  way  to  horror  when  her 
glance  fell  on  his  gloved  hand.  She  had  a  swift, 
shuddering  vision  of  a  grim-faced  man,  jaws  set 
like  a  vise,  hacking  at  his  wrist  with  a  hunting- 
knife.  But  the  engaging  impudence  of  his  eye,  the 
rollicking  laughter  in  his  voice,  shut  out  the  picture 
instantly. 

The  young  man  resumed  his  seat,  and  Miss 
Wainwright  her  listless  inspection  of  the  fiying 
stretches  of  brown  desert.  Dusk  was  beginning  to 
fall,  and  the  porter  presently  lit  the  lamps.  Collins 
bought  a  magazine  from  the  newsboy  and  relapsed 
into  it,  but  before  he  was  well  adjusted  to  reading 
the  Limited  pounded  to  a  second  unscheduled  halt. 

Instantly  the  magazine  was  thrown  aside  and 
Collins'  curly  head  thrust  out  of  the  window.  Pres- 
ently the  head  reappeared,  simultaneously  with  the 
crack  of  a  revolver,  the  first  of  a  detonating  fusil- 
lade. 

"Another  of  your  impatient  citizens  eager  tc 
utilize  the  unspeakable  convenience  of  rapid  tran- 

16 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


sit,"  suggested  the  clergyman,  with  ponderous  jo- 
cosity. 

"No,  sir;  nothing  so  illegal,"  smiled  the  cattle- 
man, a  whimsical  light  in  his  daredevil  eyes.  He 
leaned  forward  and  whispered  a  word  to  the  little 
girl  in  front  of  him,  who  at  once  led  her  younger 
brother  back  to  his  section. 

"I  had  hoped  it  would  prove  to  be  more  divert- 
ing experience  for  a  tenderfoot,"  condescended  the 
gentleman  of  the  cloth. 

"It's  ce'tainly  a  pleasure  to  be  able  to  gratify 
you,  sir.  You'll  be  right  pleased  to  know  that  it 
is  a  train  hold-up."  He  waved  his  hand  toward  the 
door,  and  at  the  word,  as  if  waiting  for  his  cue, 
a  masked  man  appeared  at  the  end  of  the  passage 
with  a  revolver  in  each  hand. 


CHAPTER  II. 

TAXATION    WITHOUT   REPRESENTATION. 

"Hands  up!" 

There  was  a  ring  of  crisp  menace  in  the  sinister 
voice  that  was  a  spur  to  obedience.  The  unanimous 
show  of  hands  voted  "Aye"  with  a  hasty  precision 
that  no  amount  of  drill  could  have  compassed. 

It  was  a  situation  that  might  have  made  for 
laughter  had  there  been  spectators  to  appreciate. 
But  of  whatever  amusement  was  to  be  had  one  of 
the  victims  seemed  to  hold  a  monopoly.  Collins, 
his  arm  around  the  English  children  by  way  of 
comfort,  offered  a  sardonic  smile  at  the  consterna- 
tion his  announcement  and  its  fulfilment  had  cre- 
ated, but  none  of  his  fellow  passengers  were  in  the 
humor  to  respond. 

The  shock  of  an  earthquake  could  not  have 
blanched  ruddy  faces  more  surely.  The  Chicago 
drummer,  fat  and  florid,  had  disappeared  com- 
pletely behind  a  buttress  of  the  company's  uphols- 
tery. 

"God  bless  my  soul!"  gasped  the  Pekin-Boston- 
ian,  dropping  his  eyeglass  and  his  accent  at  the 
same  moment.  The  dismay  in  his  face  found  a  re- 
flection all  over  the  car.  Miss  Wainwright's  hand 

18 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


clutched  at  her  breast  for  an  instant,  and  her  color 
ebbed  till  her  lips  were  ashen,  but  her  neighbor 
across  the  aisle  noticed  that  her  eyes  were  steady 
and  her  figure  tense. 

"Scared  stiff,  but  game,"  was  his  mental  com- 
ment. 

"Gents  to  the  right  and  ladies  to  the  left;  line 
up  against  the  walls;  everybody  waltz/''  called  the 
man  behind  the  guns,  with  grim  humor. 

The  passengers  fell  into  line  as  directed,  Collins 
with  the  rest. 

"You're  calling  this  dance,  son ;  it's  your  say-so, 
I  guess,"  he  conceded. 

"Keep  still,  or  I'll  shoot  you  full  of  holes," 
growled  the  autocrat  of  the  artillery. 

"Why,  sure!  Ain't  you  the  real  thing  in  Jesse 
Jameses?"  soothed  the  sheriff. 

At  the  sound  of  Collins'  voice,  the  masked  man 
had  started  perceptibly,  and  his  right  hand  had 
jumped  forward  an  inch  or  two  to  cover  the  speak- 
er more  definitely.  Thereafter,  no  matter  what 
else  engaged  his  attention,  the  gleaming  eyes  be- 
hind the  red  bandanna  never  wandered  for  a  mo- 
ment from  the  big  plainsman.  He  was  taking  no 
risks,  for  he  remembered  the  saying  current  in 
Arizona,  that  after  Collins'  hardware  got  into  ac- 
tion there  was  nothing  left  to  do  but  plant  the  de- 
ceased and  collect  the  insurance.  He  had  personal 
reasons  to  know  the  fundamental  accuracy  of  the 
colloquialism. 

19 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


The  train-conductor  fussed  up  to  the  masked 
outlaw  with  a  ludicrous  attempt  at  authority.  "You 
can't  rob  the  passengers  on  this  train.  I'm  not 
responsible  for  the  express-car,  but  the  coaches 


A  bullet  almost  grazed  his  ear  and  shattered  a 
window  on  its  way  to  the  desert. 

"Drift,  you  red-haired  son  of  a  Mexican?" 
ordered  the  man  behind  the  red  bandanna.  "Git 
back  to  that  seat  real  prompt.  This  here's  taxation 
without  representation." 

The  conductor  drifted  as  per  suggestion. 

The  minutes  ticked  themselves  away  in  a  tense 
strain  marked  by  pounding  hearts.  The  outlaw 
stood  at  the  end  of  the  aisle,  watching  the  sheriff 
alertly. 

"Why  doesn't  the  music  begin  ?"  volunteered  Col- 
lins, by  way  of  conversation,  and  quoted:  "On 
with  the  dance.  Let  joy  be  unconfmed." 

A  dull  explosion  answered  his  question.  The 
bandits  were  blowing  open  the  safe  in  the  express- 
car  with  dynamite,  pending  which  the  looting  of  the 
passengers  was  at  a  standstill. 

A  second  masked  figure  joined  his  companion  at 
the  end  of  the  passage  and  held  a  hurried  conversa- 
tion with  him.  Fragments  of  their  low-voiced  talk 
came  to  Collins. 

"Only  thirty  thousand  in  the  express-car.  .  .  . 
Not  a  red  cent  on  the  old  man  himself.  .  .  . 

20 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


Where's   the  rest?"      The   irritation   in   the  new- 
comer's voice  was  pronounced. 

Collins  slewed  his  head  and  raked  him  with  keen 
eyes  that  missed  not  a  detail.  He  was  certain  that 
he  had  never  seen  the  man  before,  yet  he  knew  at 
once  that  the  trim,  wiry  figure,  so  clean  of  build  and 
so  gallant  of  bearing,  could  belong  only  to  Wolf 
Leroy,  the  most  ruthless  outlaw  of  the  Southwest. 
It  was  written  in  his  jaunty  insolence,  in  the  flash- 
ing eyes.  He  was  a  handsome  fellow,  white- 
toothed,  black-haired,  lithely  tigerish,  with  master- 
ful mouth  and  eyes  of  steel,  so  far  as  one  might 
judge  behind  the  white  mask  he  wore.  Alert,  cruel, 
fearless  from  the  head  to  the  heel  of  him,  he  looked 
the  very  devil  to  lead  an  enterprise  so  lawless  and 
so  desperate  as  this.  His  vigilant  eyes  swept  con- 
temptuously up  and  down  the  car,  rested  for  a  mo- 
ment on  the  young  woman  in  Section  3,  and  came 
back  to  his  partner. 

"Bah !    A  flock  of  sheep — tamest  bunch  of  spring, 
lambs  we  ever  struck.     I'll  send  Scotty  in  to  go 
through  them.     If  anybody  gets  gay,  drop  him." 
And  the  outlaw  turned  on  his  heel. 

Another  of  the  highwaymen  took  his  place — a 
stout,  squat  figure  in  the  flannel  shirt,  spurs,  and 
chaps  of  a  cow-puncher.  It  took  no  second  glance 
to  tell  Collins  this  bandy-legged  fellow  had  been 
a  rider  of  the  range. 

"Come,  gentlemen,  get  a  move  on  you,"  Collins 
implored.  "This  train's  due  at  Tucson  by  eight 

21 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


o'clock.  We're  more  than  an  hour  late  now. 
I'm  holding  down  the  job  of  sheriff  in  that  same 
town,  and  I'm  awful  anxious  to  get  a  posse  out 
after  a  bunch  of  train-robbers.  So  burn  the  wind, 
and  go  through  the  car  on  the  jump.  Help  yourself 
to  anything  you  find.  Who  steals  my  purse  takes 
trash.  'Tis  something,  nothing.  'Twas  mine;  'tis 
his.  That's  right,  you'll  find  my  roll  in  that  left- 
hand  pocket.  I  hate  to  have  you  take  that  gun, 
though.  I  meant  to  run  you  down  with  that  same 
old  Colt's  reliable.  Oh,  well,  just  as  you  say.  No, 
those  kids  get  a  free  pass.  They're  going  out  to 
meet  papa  at  Los  Angeles,  boys.  See?" 

Collins'  running  fire  of  comment  had  at  least 
the  effect  of  restoring  the  color  to  some  cheeks  that 
had  been  washed  white  and  of  snatching  from  the 
outlaws  some  portion  of  their  sense  of  dominating 
the  situation.  But  there  was  a  veiled  vigilance  id- 
his  eyes  that  belied  his  easy  impudence. 

"That  lady  across  the  aisle  gets  a  pass,  too,  boys," 
continued  the  sheriff.  "She's  scared  stiff  now,  and 
you  won't  bother  her,  if  you're  white  men.  Her 
watch  and  purse  are  on  the  seat.  Take  them,  if 
you  want  them,  and  let  it  go  at  that." 

Miss  Wainwright  listened  to  this  dialogue  si- 
lently. She  stood  before  them  cool  and  imperious 
and  unwavering,  but  her  face  was  bloodless  and  the 
pulse  in  her  beautiful  soft  throat  fluttered  like  a 
caged  bird. 

"Who's  doing  this  job?"  demanded  one  of  the 

22 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


hold-ups,  wheeling  savagely  on  the  impassive  officer. 
"Did  I  say  we  were  going  to  bother  the  lady? 
Who's  doing  this  job,  Mr.  Sheriff?" 

"You  are.  I'd  hate  to  be  messing  the  job  like 
you — holding  up  the  wrong  train  by  mistake." 
This  was  a  shot  in  the  dark,  and  it  did  not  quite 
hit  the  bull's-eye.  "I  wouldn't  trust  you  boys  to 
rob  a  hen-roost,  the  amateur  way  you  go  at  it. 
When  you  get  through,  you'll  all  go  to  drinking  like 
blue  blotters.  I  know  your  kind — hell-bent  to  spend 
what  you  cash  in,  and  every  mother's  son  of  you  in 
the  pen  or  with  his  toes  turned  up  inside  of  a 
month." 

"Who'll  put  us  there?"  gruffly  demanded  the  bow- 
legged  one. 

Collins  smiled  at  him  with  confidence  superb. 
"Mebbe  I  will— and  if  I  don't  Bucky  O'Connor  will 
— those  of  you  that  are  left  alive  when  you  get 
through  shooting  each  other  in  the  back.  Oh,  I 
see  your  finish  to  a  fare-you-well." 

"Cheese  it,  or  I'll  bump  you  off."  The  first  out- 
law drove  his  gun  into  the  sheriff's  ribs. 

"That's  all  right.  You  don't  need  to  punctuate 
that  remark.  I  line  up  with  the  sky-pilot  and  chew 
the  cud  of  silence.  I  merely  wanted  to  frame  up 
to  you  how  this  thing's  going  to  turn  out.  Don't 
come  back  at  me  and  say  I  didn't  warn  you,  sonnie." 

"You  make  my  head  ache,"  snapped  the  bandy- 
legged outlaw  sourly,  as  he  passed  down  the  aisle 
with  his  sack,  accumulating  tribute  as  he  went. 

23 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


The  red-kerchiefed  robber  whooped  when  they 
came  to  the  car  conductor.  "Dig  up,  Mr.  Pullman. 
Go  way  down  into  your  jeans.  It's  a  right  smart 
pleasure  to  divert  the  plunder  of  your  bloated  cor- 
poration back  to  the  people.  What!  Only  fifty- 
seven  dollars.  Oh,  dig  deeper,  Mr.  Pullman." 

The  drummer  contributed  to  the  sack  eighty-four 
dollars,  a  diamond  ring,  and  a  gold  watch.  His 
hands  were  trembling  so  that  they  played  a  tattoo 
on  the  sloping  ceiling  above  him. 

"What's  the  matter,  Fatty?  Got  a  chill?"  in- 
quired one  of  the  robbers,  as  he  deftly  swept  the 
plunder  into  the  sack. 

"For — God's  sake — don't  shoot.  I  have — a  wife 
— and  five  children,"  he  stammered,  with  chattering 
teeth. 

"No  race  suicide  for  Fatty.  But  whyfor  do  they 
let  a  sick  man  like  you  travel  all  by  his  lone?" 

"I  don't  know — I Please  turn  that  weapon 

another  way." 

"Plumb  chuck  full  of  malaria,"  soliloquized  the 
owner  of  the  weapon,  playfully  running  its  busi- 
ness end  over  the  Chicago  man's  anatomy.  "Shakes 
worse'n  a  pair  of  dice.  Here,  Fatty.  Load  up  with 
quinine  and  whisky.  It's  sure  good  for  chills."  The 
man  behind  the  bandanna  gravely  handed  his  victim 
back  a  dollar.  "Write  me  if  it  cures  you.  Now 
for  the  sky-pilot.  No  white  chips  on  this  plate, 
parson.  It's  a  contribution  to  the  needy  heathen. 
You  want  to  be  generous.  How  much  do  you  say  ?" 

24 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


The  man  of  the  cloth  reluctantly  said  thirty  dol- 
lars, a  Lincoln  penny,  and  a  silver-plated  watch  in- 
herited from  his  fathers.  The  watch  was  declined, 
with  thanks,  the  money  accepted  without. 

The  Pullman  porter  came  into  the  car  under  com- 
pulsion of  a  revolver  in  the  hand  of  a  fourth  out- 
law, one  in  a  black  mask.  His  trembling  finger 
pointed  out  the  satchel  and  suit-case  of  Major  Mac- 
kenzie, and  under  orders  he  carried  out  the  bag- 
gage belonging  to  the  irrigation  engineer.  Collins 
observed  that  the  bandit  in  the  black  mask  was  so 
nervous  that  the  revolver  in  his  hand  quivered  like 
an  aspen  in  the  wind.  He  was  slenderer  and  much 
shorter  than  the  Mexican,  so  that  the  sheriff  decided 
he  was  a  mere  boy. 

It  was  just  after  he  had  left  that  three  shots  in 
rapid  succession  rang  out  in  the  still  night  air. 

The  red-bandannaed  one  and  his  companion,  who 
had  apparently  been  waiting  for  the  signal,  retreated 
backward  to  the  end  of  the  car,  still  keeping  the 
passengers  covered.  They  flung  rapidly  two  or 
three  bullets  through  the  roof,  and  under  cover  of 
the  smoke  slipped  out  into  the  night.  A  moment 
later  came  the  thud  of  galloping  horses,  more  shots, 
and,  when  the  patter  of  hoofs  had  died  away — si- 
lence. 

The  sheriff  was  the  first  to  break  it.  He  thrust 
his  brown  hands  deep  into  his  pockets  and  laughed 
— laughed  with  the  joyous,  rollicking  abandon  of  a 
tickled  schoolboy. 

25 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"Hysterics?''  ventured  the  mining  engineer  sym- 
pathetically. 

Collins  wiped  his  eyes.  "Call  'em  anything  you 
like.  What  pleases  me  is  that  the  reverend  gentle- 
man should  have  had  this  diverting  experience  so 
prompt  after  he  was  wishing  for  it."  He  turned, 
with  concern,  to  the  clergyman.  "Satisfied,  sir? 
Did  our  little  entertainment  please,  or  wasn't  it  up 
to  the  mark?" 

But  the  transported  native  of  Pekin  was  game. 
"I'm  quite  satisfied,  if  you  are.  I  think  the  affair 
cost  you  a  hundred  dollars  or  so  more  than  it  did 


me." 


"That's  right,"  agreed  the  sheriff  heartily.  "But 
I  don't  grudge  it — not  a  cent  of  it.  The  show  was 
worth  the  price  of  admission." 

The  car  conductor  had  a  broadside  ready  for 
him.  "Seems  to  me  you  shot  off  your  mouth  more 
than  you  did  that  big  gun  of  yours,  Mr.  Sheriff." 

Collins  laughed,  and  clapped  him  on  the  back. 
"That's  right.  I'm  a  regular  phonograph,  when  you 
wind  me  up."  He  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  ex- 
plain that  he  had  talked  to  make  the  outlaws  talk, 
and  that  he  had  noted  the  quality  of  their  voices  sc 
carefully  that  he  would  know  them  again  among 
a  thousand.  Also  he  had  observed  other  things — 
the  garb  of  each  of  the  men  he  had  seen,  their 
weapons,  their  manner,  and  their  individual  peculi- 
arities. 

The  clanking  car  took  up  the  rhythm  of  the  rails 
26 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


as  the  delayed  train  plunged  forward  once  more 
into  the  night.  Again  the  clack  of  tongues,  set  free 
from  fear,  buzzed  eagerly.  The  glow  of  the  after- 
clap  of  danger  was  on  them,  and  in  the  warm  excite- 
ment each  forgot  the  paralyzing  fear  that  had  but 
now  padlocked  his  lips.  Courage  came  flowing  back 
into  flabby  cheeks  and  red  blood  into  hearts  of 
water. 

At  the  next  station  the  Limited  stopped,  and  the 
conductor  swung  from  a  car  before  the  wheels  had 
ceased  rolling  and  went  running  into  the  telegraph 
office. 

"Fire  a  message  through  for  me,  Pat.  The  Lim- 
ited has  been  held  up,"  he  announced. 

"Held  up?"  gasped  the  operator. 

"That's  right.  Get  this  message  right  through  to 
Sabin.  I'm  not  going  to  wait  for  an  answer.  Tell 
him  I'll  stop  at  Apache  for  further  instructions." 

With  which  the  conductor  was  out  again  waving 
his  lantern  as  a  signal  for  the  train  to  start.  Sheriff 
Collins  and  Major  Mackenzie  had  entered  the  office 
at  his  heels.  They  too  had  messages  to  send,  but 
it  was  not  until  the  train  was  already  plunging  into 
( the  night  that  the  station  agent  read  the  yellow  slips 
they  had  left  and  observed  that  both  of  them  went 
to  the  same  person. 

"Lieutenant  Bucky  O'Connor,  Douglas,  Arizona," 
was  the  address  he  read  at  the  top  of  each.  His 
comment  serves  to  show  the  opinion  generally  held 

27 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


in  the  sunburned  territory  respecting  one  of  its  citi- 
zens. 

"You're  wise  guys,  gents,  both  of  yez.  This  is 
shure  a  case  for  the  leftenant.  It's  send  for  Bucky 
quick  when  the  band  begins  to  play,"  he  grinned. 

Sitting  down,  he  gave  the  call  for  Tucson,  pre- 
paratory to  transmitting  the  conductor's  message  to 
the  division  superintendent.  His  fingers  were  just 
striking  the  first  tap  when  a  silken  voice  startled 
him. 

"One  moment,  friend.     No  use  being  in  a  hurry." 

The  agent  looked  up  and  nearly  fell  from  his 
stool.  He  was  gazing  into  the  end  of  a  revolver 
held  carelessly  in  the  hand  of  a  masked  man  lean- 
ing indolently  on  the  counter. 

"Whe — where  did  you  come  from?"  the  operator 
gasped. 

"Kaintucky,  but  I  been  here  a  right  smart  spell. 
Why?  You  takin'  the  census?"  came  the  drawling 
answer. 

"I  didn't  hear  youse  come  in." 

"I  didn't  hear  you  come  in,  either,"  the  man  be- 
hind the  mask  mocked.  But  even  as  he  spoke  his 
manner  changed,  and  crisp  menace  rang  in  his  voice. 
"Have  you  sent  those  messages  yet  ?" 

"Wha — what  messages?" 

"Those  lying  on  your  desk.  I  say,  have  you  sent 
them?" 

"Not  yet." 

"Hand  them  over  here." 
28 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


The  operator  passed  them  across  the  counter  with- 
out demur. 

"Now  reach  for  the  roof." 

Up  shot  the  station  agent's  hands.  The  bandit 
glanced  over  the  written  sheets  and  commented 
aloud : 

"Huh!  One  from  the  conductor  and  one  from 
Mackenzie.  I  expected  those.  But  this  one  from 
Collins  is  ce'tainly  a  surprise  party.  I  didn't  know 
he  was  on  the  train.  Lucky  for  him  I  didn't,  or 
mebbe  I'd  a-put  his  light  for  good  and  all.  Friend, 
I  reckon  we'll  suppress  these  messages.  Military 
necessity,  you  understand."  And  with  that  he 
lightly  tore  up  the  yellow  sheets  and  tossed  them 
away. 

"The  conductor  will  wire  when  he  reaches 
Apache,"  the  operator  suggested,  not  very  boldly. 

The  outlaw  rolled  a  cigarette  defty  and  borrowed 
a  match.  "He  most  surely  will.  But  Apache  is  sev- 
enty miles  from  here.  That  gives  us  an  extra  hour 
and  a  half,  and  with  us  right  now  time  is  a  heap 
more  valuable  than  money.  You  may  tell  Bucky 
O'Connor  when  you  see  him  that  that  extra  hour 
and  a  half  cinches  our  escape,  and  we  weren't  on  the 
anxious  seat  any  without  it." 

It  may  have  been  true,  as  the  train  robber  had 
just  said,  that  time  was  more  valuable  to  him  then 
than  money,  but  if  so  he  must  have  held  the  latter 
of  singularly  little  value.  For  he  sat  him  down  on 
the  counter  with  his  back  against  the  wall  and  his 

29 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


legs  stretched  full  length  in  front  of  him  and 
glanced  over  the  Tucson  Star  in  leisurely  fashion, 
while  Pat's  arms  still  projected  roof  ward. 

The  operator,  beginning  to  get  over  his  natural 
fright,  could  not  withhold  a  reluctant  admiration  of 
this  man's  aplomb.  There  was  a  certain  pantherish 
lightness  about  the  outlaw's  movements,  a  trim 
grace  of  figure  which  yet  suggested  rippling  muscles 
perfectly  under  control,  and  a  quiet  wariness  of  eye 
more  potent  than  words  at  repressing  insurgent  im- 
pulses. Certainly  if  ever  there  was  a  cool  customer 
and  one  perfectly  sure  of  himself,  this  was  he. 

"Not  a  thing  in  the  Star  to-day,"  Pat's  visitor 
commented,  as  he  flung  it  away  with  a  yawn.  "I'll 
bet  a  thousand  dollars  of  the  express  company's 
money  that  there  will  be  something  more  interesting 
in  it  to-morrow." 

"That's  right,"  agreed  the  agent. 

"But  I  won't  be  here  to  read  it.  My  engage- 
ments take  me  south.  I'll  make  a  present  to  the 
great  Lieutenant  O'Connor  of  the  information. 
We're  headed  south,  tell  him.  And  tell  Mr.  Sheriff 
Collins,  too — happy  to  entertain  him  if  he  happens 
our  way.  If  it  would  rest  your  hands  any  there's 
no  law  against  putting  them  in  your  trousers 
pockets,  my  friend." 

From  outside  there  came  a  short  sharp  whistle. 
The  man  on  the  counter  answered  it,  and  slipped  at 
once  to  the  floor.  The  door  opened,  to  let  in  an- 
other masked  form,  but  one  how  different  from  the 

30 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


first !  Here  was  no  confidence  almost  insolent  in  its 
nonchalance.  The  figure  was  slight  and  boyish,  the 
manner  deprecating,  the  brown  eyes  shy  and  shrink- 
ing. He  was  so  obviously  a  novice  at  outlawry  that 
fear  sat  heavy  upon  his  shoulders.  When  he  spoke, 
almost  in  a  whisper,  his  teeth  chattered. 

"All  ready,  sir." 

"The  wires  are  cut  ?"  demanded  his  leader  crisply. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"On  both  sides?" 

"On  both  sides." 

His  chief  relieved  the  operator  of  the  revolver  in 
his  desk,  broke  it,  emptied  out  the  shells,  and  flung 
them  through  the  window,  then  tossed  the  weapon 
back  to  its  owner. 

"You'll  not  shoot  yourself  by  accident  now,"  he 
explained,  and  with  that  he  had  followed  his  com- 
panion into  the  night. 

There  came  to  the  station  agent  the  sound  of  gal- 
loping  horses,  growing  fainter,  until  a  heavy  silence 
seemed  to  fill  the  night.  He  stole  to  the  door  and 
locked  it,  pulled  down  the  window  blinds,  and  then 
reloaded  his  revolver  with  feverish  haste.  This 
done,  he  sat  down  before  his  keys  with  the  weapon 
close  at  hand  and  frantically  called  for  Tucson  over 
and  over  again.  No  answer  came  to  him,  nor  from 
the  other  direction  when  he  tried  that.  The  young 
bandit  had  told  the  truth.  His  companions  had  cut 
the  wires  and  so  isolated  from  the  world  for  the 
time  the  scene  of  the  hold-up.  The  agent  under- 

31 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


stood  now  why  the  leader  of  the  outlaws  had  hon 
ored  him  with  so  much  of  his  valuable  time.  H< 
had  stayed  to  hold  back  the  telegrams  until  h< 
knew  the  wires  were  cut 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  SHERIFF  INTRODUCES  HIMSELF. 

Bear-trap  Collins,  presuming  on  the  new  intimacy 
born  of  an  exciting  experience  shared  in  common, 
stepped  across  the  aisle,  flung  aside  Miss  Wain- 
wright's  impedimenta,  and  calmly  seated  himself  be- 
side her.  She  was  a  young  woman  capable  of  a 
hauteur  chillier  than  ice  to  undue  familiarity,  but 
she  did  not  choose  at  this  moment  to  resent  his  as- 
sumption of  a  footing  that  had  not  existed  an  hour 
ago.  Picturesque  and  unconventional  conduct  ex- 
cuses itself  when  it  is  garbed  in  picturesque  and  en- 
gaging manners.  She  had,  besides,  other  reasons 
for  wanting  to  meet  him,  and  they  had  to  do  with 
a  sudden  suspicion  that  flamed  like  tow  in  her  brain. 
She  had  something  for  which  to  thank  him — much 
more  than  he  would  be  likely  to  guess,  she  thought 
— and  she  was  wondering,  with  a  surge  of  triumph, 
whether  the  irony  of  fate  had  not  made  his  pre- 
tended consideration  for  her  the  means  of  his  un- 
doing. 

"I  am  sorry  you  lost  so  much,  Miss  Wainwright," 
he  told  her. 

"But,  after  all,  I  did  not  lose  so  much  as  you.** 
Her  dark,  deep-pupiled  eyes,  long-lashed  as  Diana's, 
swept  round  to  meet  his  coolly. 

33 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"That's  a  true  word.  My  reputation  has  gone 
glimmering  for  fair,  I  guess/'  He  laughed  rue- 
fully. "I  shouldn't  wonder,  ma'am,  when  election 
time  comes  round,  if  the  boys  ain't  likely  to  elect 
to  private  life  the  sheriff  that  lay  down  before  a 
bunch  of  miscreants." 

"Why  did  you  do  it?" 

His  humorous  glance  roamed  round  the  car. 
"Now,  I  couldn't  think  it  proper  for  me  to  shoot  up 
this  sumptuous  palace  on  wheels.  And  wouldn't 
some  casual  passenger  be  likely  to  get  his  lights  put 
out  when  the  band  began  to  play  ?  Would  you  want 
that  Boston  church  to  be  shy  a  preacher,  ma'am?" 

Her  lips  parted  slightly  in  a  curve  of  scorn.  "I 
suppose  you  had  your  reasons  for  not  interfering." 

"Surely,  ma'am.  I  hated  to  have  them  make  a 
sieve  of  me." 

"Were  you  afraid?" 

"Most  men  are  when  Wolf  Leroy's  gang  is  on 
the  war  path." 

"Wolf  Leroy?" 

"That  was  Wolf  who  came  in  to  see  they 
were  doing  the  job  right.  He's  the  worst  desperado 
on  the  border — a  sure  enough  bad  proposition,  I 
reckon.  They  say  he's  part  Spanish  and  part  In- 
dian, but  all  pisen.  Others  say  he's  a  college  man 
of  good  family.  I  don't  know  about  that,  for  no- 
body knows  who  he  really  is.  But  the  name  is  a 
byword  in  the  country.  People  lower  their  voices 
when  they  speak  of  him  and  his  night-riders." 

34 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"I  see.    And  you  were  afraid. of  him?" 

"Very  much/' 

Her  narrowed  eyes  looked  over  the  strong  lines 
of  his  lean  face  and  were  unconvinced.  "I  expect 
you  found  a  better  reason  than  that  for  not  oppos- 
ing them." 

He  turned  to  her  with  frank  curiosity.  "I'd  like 
real  well  to  have  you  put  a  name  to  it." 

But  he  was  instantly  aware  that  her  interest  had 
been  side  tracked.  Major  Mackenzie  had  entered 
the  car  and  was  coming  down  the  aisle.  Plainer 
than  words  his  eyes  asked  a  question,  and  hers  an- 
swered it. 

The  sheriff  stopped  him  with  a  smiling  query: 
"Hit  hard,  major?" 

Mackenzie  frowned.  "The  scoundrels  took  thirty 
thousand  from  the  express  car,  I  understand. 
Twenty  thousand  of  it  belonged  to  our  company.  I 
was  expecting  to  pay  off  the  men  next  Tuesday." 

"Hope  we'll  be  able  to  run  them  down  for  you," 
returned  Collins  cheerfully.  "I  suppose  you  lay  it 
to  Wolf  Leroy's  gang?" 

"Of  course.  The  work  was  too  well  done  to  leave 
any  doubt  of  that."  The  major  resumed  his  seat 
behind  Miss  Waimvright. 

To  that  young  woman  the  sheriff  repeated  his  un- 
answered question  in  the  form  of  a  statement.  "I'm 
waiting  to  learn  that  better  reason,  ma'am." 

She  was  possessed  of  that  spice  of  effrontery  more 

35 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


to  be  desired  than  beauty.  "Shall  we  say  that  you 
had  no  wish  to  injure  your  friends?" 

"My  friends?" 

Her  untender  eyes  mocked  his  astonishment  "Do 
I  choose  the  wrong  word?"  she  asked,  with  an  au- 
dacity of  a  courage  that  delighted  him.  "Perhaps 
they  are  not  your  friends — these  train  robbers  ?  Per- 
haps they  are  mere  casual  acquaintances?" 

His  bold  eyes  studied  with  a  new  interest  her 
superb,  confident  youth — the  rolling  waves  of  splen- 
did Titian  hair,  the  lovely,  subtle  eyes  with  the 
depths  of  shadowy  pools  in  them,  the  alluring  lines 
of  long  and  supple  loveliness.  Certainly  here  was 
no  sweet,  ingenuous  youth  all  prone  to  blushes,  but 
the  complex  heir  of  that  world-old  wisdom  the 
weaker  sex  has  shaped  to  serve  as  a  weapon  against 
the  strength  that  must  be  met  with  the  wit  of 
Mother  Eve. 

"You  ce'tainly  have  a  right  vivid  imagination, 
ma'am,"  he  said  dryly. 

"You  are  quite  sure  you  have  never  seen  them 
before?"  her  velvet  voice  asked. 

He  laughed.     "Well,  no—I  can't  say  I  am." 

"Aren't  you  quite  sure  you  have  seen  them?" 

Her  eyes  rested  on  him  very  steadily. 

"You're  smart  as  a  whip,  Miss  Wainwright.  I 
take  off  my  hat  to  a  young  lady  so  clever.  I  guess 
you're  right.  About  the  identity  of  one  of  those 
masked  gentlemen  I'm  pretty  well  satisfied." 

She  drew  a  long  breath.     "I  thought  so." 

36 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"Yes,"  he  went  on  evenly,  "I  once  earmarked  him 
so  that  I'd  know  him  again  in  case  we  met." 

"I  beg  pardon.     You — what  ?" 

"Earmarked  him.  Figure  of  speech,  ma'am.  You 
may  not  have  observed  that  the  curly-headed  per- 
son behind  the  guns  was  shy  the  forefinger  of  his 
right  hand.  We  had  a  little  difficulty  once  when  he 
was  resisting  arrest,  and  it  just  happened  that  my 
gun  fanned  away  his  trigger  finger."  He  added 
reminiscently : 

"A  good  boy,  too,  Neil  was  once.  We  used  to 
punch  together  on  the  Hashknife.  A  straight-up 
rider,  the  kind  a  fellow  wants  when  Old  Man 
Trouble  comes  knocking  at  the  door.  Well,  I  reckon 
he's  a  miscreant  now,  all  right." 

"They  knew  you — at  least  two  of  them  did." 

"I've  been  pirootin'  around  this  country,  boy  and 
man,  for  fifteen  years.  I  ain't  responsible  for  every 
yellow  dog  that  knows  me,"  he  drawled. 

"And  I  noticed  that  when  you  told  them  not  to 
rob  the  children  and  not  to  touch  me  they  did  as  you 
said." 

"Hypnotism,"  he  suggested,  with  a  smile. 

"So,  not  being  a  child,  I  put  two  and  two  together 
and  draw  an  inference." 

He  seemed  to  be  struggling  with  his  mirth.  "I 
see  you  do.  Well,  ma'am,  I've  been  most  every- 
thing since  I  hit  the  West,  but  this  is  the  first  time 
I've  been  taken  for  a  train  robber." 

"I  didn't  say  that,"  she  cried  quickly. 

37 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"I  think  you  mentioned  an  inference."  The  low 
laugh  welled  out  of  him  and  broke  in  his  face. 
"I've  been  busy  on  one,  too.  It's  a  heap  nearer  the 
truth  than  yours,  Miss — Mackenzie." 
f  Her  startled  eyes  and  the  swift  movement  of  her 
hand  toward  her  heart  showed  him  how  nearly  he 
had  struck  home,  how  certainly  he  had  shattered  her 
cool  indifference  of  manner. 

He  leaned  forward,  so  close  that  even  in  the  roar 
of  the  train  his  low  whisper  reached  her.  "Shall 
I  tell  you  why  the  hold-ups  didn't  find  more  money 
on  your  father  or  in  the  express  car,  Miss  Mac- 
kenzie?" 

She  was  shaken,  so  much  so  that  her  agitation 
trembled  on  her  lips. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  why  your  hand  went  to  your 
breast  when  I  first  mentioned  that  the  train  was  go- 
ing to  be  held  up,  and  again  when  your  father's 
eyes  were  firing  a  mighty  pointed  question  at  you  ?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  retorted, 
again  mistress  of  herself. 

Her  gallant  bearing  compelled  his  admiration. 
The  scornful  eyes,  the  satirical  lift  of  the  nostrils, 
the  erect,  graceful  figure,  all  flung  a  challenge  at 
him.  He  called  himself  hard  names  for  putting  her 
on  the  rack,  but  the  necessity  to  make  her  believe  in 
him  was  strong  within  him. 

"I  noticed  you  went  right  chalky  when  I  an- 
nounced the  hold-up,  and  I  thought  it  was  because 
you  were  scared.  That  was  where  I  did  you  an 

38 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


injustice,  ma'am,  and  you  can  call  this  an  apology. 
You've  got  sand.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  what  you 
carry  in  the  chamois  skin  hanging  on  the  chain 
round  your  neck  you  would  have  enjoyed  every  min- 
ute of  the  little  entertainment.  You're  as  game  as 
they  make  them." 

"May  I  ask  how  you  arrived  at  this  melodra- 
matic conclusion?"  she  asked,  her  disdainful- lip 
curling. 

"By  using  my  eyes  and  my  ears,  ma'am.  I 
shouldn't  have  noticed  your  likeness  to  Major  Mac- 
kenzie, perhaps,  if  I  hadn't  observed  that  there  was 
a  secret  understanding  between  you.  Now,  why- 
for  should  you  be  passing  as  strangers?  I  could 
guess  one  reason,  and  only  one.  There  have  twice 
been  attempted  hold-ups  of  the  paymaster  of  the 
Yuba  reservoir.  It  was  to  avoid  any  more  of  these 
that  Major  Mackenzie  took  charge  personally  of  pay- 
ing the  men.  He  has  made  good  up  till  now.  But 
there  have  been  rumors  for  months  that  he  would 
be  held  up  either  before  leaving  the  train  or  while 
he  was  crossing  the  desert.  He  didn't  want  to  be 
seen  taking  the  boodle  from  the  express  company  at 
Tucson.  He  would  rather  have  the  impression  get 
gut  that  this  was  just  a  casual  visit.  It  occurred  to 
him  to  bring-  along  some  unsuspected  party  to  help 
him  out.  The  robbers  would  never  expect  to  find 
the  money  on  a  woman.  That's  why  the  major 
brought  his  daughter  with  him.  Doesn't  it  make 
you  some  uneasy  to  be  carrying  fifty  thousand  in 

39 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


small  bills  sewed  in  your  clothes  and  hung  round 
your  neck  ?" 

She  broke  into  musical  laughter,  natural  and  easy. 
"I  don't  happen  to  have  fifty  thousand  with  me." 

"Oh,  well,  say  forty  thousand.  I'm  no  wizard 
/to  guess  the  exact  figure, " 

Her  swift  glance  at  him  was  almost  timid. 

"Nor  forty  thousand,"  she  murmured. 

"I  should  think,  ma'am,  you'd  crinkle  more  than 
a  silk-lined  lady  sailing  down  a  church  aisle  on 
Sunday," 

A  picture  in  the  magazine  she  was  toying  with 
seemed  to  interest  her. 

"I  expect  that's  the  signal  for  'Exit  Collins.'  I'll 
say  good-by  till  next  time,  Miss  Mackenzie." 

"Oh,  is  there  going  to  be  a  next  time  ?"  she  asked, 
with  elaborate  carelessness. 

"Several  of  them." 

"Indeed!" 

He  took  a  notebook  from  his  pocket  and  wrote. 

"I  ain't  the  son  of  a  prophet,  but  I'm  venturing  a 
prediction,"  he  explained. 

She  had  nothing  to  say,  and  she  said  it  compe- 
tently. 

"Concerning  an  investment  in  futurities  I'm  mak- 
ing," he  continued. 

Her  magazine  article  seemed  to  be  beginning 
well. 

"It's  a  little  guess  about  how  this  train  robbery 
is  coming  out.  If  you  don't  mind,  I'll  leave  it  with 

40 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


you."  He  tore  the  page  out,  put  it  in  an  empty  en- 
velope, sealed  the  flap,  and  handed  it  to  her. 

"Open  it  in  a  month,  and  see  whether  my  guess 
is  a  good  one." 

The  dusky  lashes  swept  round  indolently.  "Sup- 
pose I  were  to  open  it  to-night." 

"I'll  risk  it,"  smiled  the  blue  eyes. 

"On  honor,  ami?" 

"That's  it."     He  held  out  a  big,  brown  hand. 

"You're  going  to  try  to  capture  the  robbers,  are 
you?" 

"I've  been  thinking  that  way — with  the  help  of 
Lieutenant  Bucky  O'Connor,  I  mean." 

"And  I  suppose  you've  promised   yourself    suc- 


cess." 


"It's  on  the  knees  of  chance,  ma'am.  We  may 
get  them.  They  may  get  us." 

"But  this  prediction  of  yours  ?"  She  held  up  the 
sealed  envelope. 

"That's  about  another  matter." 

"But  I  don't  understand.  You  said "  She 

gave  him  a  chance  to  explain. 

"It  ain't  meant  you  should.  You'll  understand 
plenty  at  the  proper  time." 

He  offered  her  his  hand  again.  "We're  slowing 
down  for  Apache.  Good-by — till  next  time." 

The  suede  glove  came  forward,  and  was  buried  in 
his  handshake. 

He  understood  it  to  be  an  unvoiced  apology  of 
its  owner  for  her  suspicions,  and  his  instinct  was 

41 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


correct.  For  how  could  her  doubts  hold  their 
ground  when  he  had  showed  himself  a  sharer  in  her 
secret  and  a  guardian  of  it?  And  how  could  any- 
thing sinister  lie  behind  those  frank,  unwavering 
eyes  or  consist  with  that  long,  clean  stride  that  was 
carrying  him  so  forcefully  to  the  vestibule? 

At  Apache  no  telegrams  were  found  waiting  for 
those  who  had  been  expecting  them.  Communica- 
tion with  the  division  superintendent  at  Tucson  un- 
covered the  fact  that  no  message  of  the  hold-up 
had  yet  reached  him.  It  was  an  easy  guess  for  Col- 
lins to  find  the  reason. 

"We're  in  the  infant  class,  major,"  he  told  Mac- 
kenzie, with  a  sardonic  laugh.  "Leroy  must  have 
galloped  down  the  line  direct  to  the  station  after  the 
hold-up.  Likely  enough  he  went  into  the  depot 
just  as  we  went  out.  That  gives  him  the  other  hour 
or  two  he  needs  to  make  his  getaway  with  the  loot. 
Well,  it  can't  be  helped  now.  If  I  can  only  reach 
Bucky  there's  one  chance  in  fifty  he  can  head  them 
off  from  crossing  into  Sonora.  Soon  as  I  can  get 
together  a  posse  I'll  take  up  the  trail  from  the  point 
of  the  hold-up.  But  they'll  have  a  whole  night's 
start  on  me.  That's  a  big  handicap." 

From  Apache  Collins  sent  three  dispatches.  One 
was  to  his  deputy,  Dillon,  at  Tucson.  It  read : 

"Get  together  at  once  posse  of  four  and  outfit 
same  for  four  days." 

Another  went  to  Sabin,  the  division  superinten- 
dent: 

42 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"Order  special  to  carry  posse  with  horses  from 
Tucson  to  Big  Gap.  Must  leave  by  midnight.  Have 
track  clear." 

The  third  was  a  notification  to  Lieutenant  O'Con- 
nor, of  the  Arizona  Rangers,  of  the  hold-up,  speci- 
fying time  and  place  of  the  occurrence.  The  sheriff 
knew  it  was  not  necessary  to  add  that  the  bandits 
were  probably  heading  south  to  get  into  Sonora. 
Bucky  would  take  that  for  granted  and  do  his  best 
to  cover  the  likely  spots  of  the  frontier. 

It  was  nearly  eleven  when  the  Limited  drew  in 
to  Tucson.  Sabin  was  on  the  platform  anxiously 
awaiting  their  arrival.  Collins  reached  him  even 
before  the  conductor. 

"Ordered  the  special,  Mr.  Sabin?"  he  asked,  in  a 
low  voice. 

The  railroad  man  was  chewing  nervously  on  an 
unlit  cigar.  "Yes,  sheriff.  You  want  only  an  en- 
gine and  one  car,  I  suppose." 

"That  will  be  enough.  I've  got  to  go  uptown  now 
and  meet  Dillon.  Midnight  sharp,  please." 

"Do  you  know  how  much  they  got?"  Sabin  whis- 
pered. 

"Thirty  thousand,  I  hear,  besides  what  they  took 
from  the  passengers.  The  conductor  will  tell  you 
all  about  it.  I've  got  to  jump  to  be  ready." 

A  disappointment  awaited  him  in  the  telegrapher's 
room  at  the  depot.  He  found  a  wire,  but  not  from 
the  person  he  expected.  The  ranger  in  charge  at 
Douglas  said  that  Lieutenant  O'Connor  was  at  Flag- 

43 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


staff,  but  pending  that  officer's  return  he  would  put 
himself  under  the  orders  of  Sheriff  Collins  and  wait 
for  instructions. 

The  sheriff  whistled  softly  to  himself  and 
scratched  his  head.  Bucky  would  not  have  waited 
for  instructions.  By  this  time  that  live  wire  would 
have  finished  telephoning  all  over  Southern  Arizona 
and  would  himself  have  been  in  the  saddle.  But 
Bucky  in  Flagstaff,  nearly  three  hundred  miles  from 
the  battlefield,  so  far  as  the  present  emergency  went, 
might  just  as  well  be  in  Calcutta.  Collins  wired 
instructions  to  the  ranger  and  sent  a  third  message 
to  the  lieutenant. 

"I  expect  I'll  hear  this  time  he's  skipped  over 
to  Winslow,"  he  told  himself,  with  a  rueful  grin. 

The  special  with  the  posse  on  board  drew  out  at 
midnight  sharp.  It  reached  the  scene  of  the  hold- 
up before  daybreak.  The  loading  board  was  low- 
ered and  the  horses  led  from  the  car  and  picketed. 
Meanwhile  two  of  the  men  lit  a  fire  and  made  break- 
fast while  the  others  unloaded  the  outfit  and  packed 
for  the  trail.  The  first  faint  streaks  of  gray  dawn 
were  beginning  to  fleck  the  sky  when  Collins  and 
'Dillon,  with  a  lantern,  moved  along  the  railroad  bed 
to  the  little  clump  of  cottonwoods  where  the  out- 
laws had  probably  lain  while  they  waited  for  the 
express.  They  scanned  this  ground  inch  by  inch. 
The  coals  where  their  camp-fire  had  been  were  still 
alive.  Broken  bits  of  food  lay  scattered  about. 
Half-trampled  into  the  ground  the  sheriff  picked  up 

44 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


a  narrow  gold  chain  and  locket.  This  last  he  opened, 
and  found  it  to  contain  a  tiny  photograph  of  a 
young  mother  and  babe,  both  laughing  happily.  A 
close  search  failed  to  disclose  anything  else  of  in- 
terest. 

They  returned  to  their  companions,  ate  breakfast, 
and  saddled.  It  was  by  this  time  light  enough  to 
be  moving.  The  trail  was  easy  as  a  printed  map, 
for  the  object  of  the  outlaws  had  been  haste  rather 
than  secrecy.  The  posse  covered  it  swiftly  and 
without  hesitation. 

"Now,  I  wonder  why  this  trail  don't  run  straight 
south  instead  of  bearing  to  the  left  into  the  hills. 
Looks  like  they're  going  to  cache  their  stolen  gold 
up  in  the  mountains  before  they  risk  crossing  into 
Sonora.  They  figure  Bucky'll  be  on  the  lookout  for 
them,"  the  sheriff  said  to  his  deputy. 

"I  believe  you've  guessed  it,  Val.  Stands  to  rea- 
son they'll  want  to  get  rid  of  the  loot  soon  as  they 
can.  Oh,  hell!" 

Dillon's  disgust  proved  justifiable,  for  the  trail 
had  lost  itself  in  a  mountain  stream,  up  or  down 
which  the  outlaws  must  have  filed.  A  month  later 
and  the  creek  would  have  been  dry.  But  it  was 
still  spring.  The  mountain  rains  had  not  ceased 
feeding  the  brook,  and  of  this  the  outlaws  had 
taken  advantage  to  wipe  out  their  trail. 

The  sheriff  looked  anxiously  at  the  sky.  "It's 
fixin'  to  rain,  Jim.  Don't  that  beat  the  Dutch?  If 
it  does,  that  lets  us  out  plenty." 

45 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


The  men  they  were  after  might  have  gone  either 
upstream  or  down.  It  was  impossible  to  know  defi- 
nitely which,  nor  was  there  time  to  follow  both. 
Already  big  drops  of  rain  were  splashing  down. 

"We'll  take  a  chance,  and  go  up.  They're  proba- 
bly up  in  the  hills  somewhere  right  now,"  said  Col- 
lins, with  characteristic  decision. 

He  had  guessed  right.  A  mile  farther  upstream 
horses  had  clambered  to  the  bank  and  struck  deeper 
into  the  hills.  But  already  rain  was  falling  in  a 
brisk  shower.  The  posse  had  not  gone  another 
quarter  of  a  mile  before  the  trail  was  washed  out. 
They  were  now  in  a  rough  and  rocky  country  get- 
ting every  minute  steeper. 

"It's  going  to  be  like  lookin'  for  a  needle  in  a 
haystack,  Val,"  Dillon  growled. 

Collins  nodded.  "We  ain't  got  one  chance  in  a 
jmndred,  Jim,  but  I  reckon  we'll  take  that  chance." 

For  three  days  they  blundered  around  in  the  hills 
before  they  gave  it  up.  The  first  night,  about  dusk, 
the  pursuers  were  without  knowing  it  so  warm  that 
one  of  the  bandits  lay  with  his  rifle  on  a  rock  rim 
not  a  stone's  throw  above  them  as  they  wound 
through  a  little  ravine.  But  Collins  got  no  glimpse 
of  the  robbers.  At  last  he  reluctantly  gave  the  word 
to  turn  back.  Probably  the  men  he  wanted  had  al- 
ready slipped  down  to  the  plains  and  across  to  Mex- 
ico. If  not,  they  might  play  hide  and  seek  with  him 
a  month  in  the  recesses  of  these  unknown 
tains. 

46 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


Next  morning  the  sheriff  struck  a  telephone  wire, 
tapped  it,  got  Sabin  on  the  line,  told  him  of  his 
failure  and  that  he  was  returning  to  Tucson.  About 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the  dispirited  posse 
reached  its  sidetracked  special. 

A  young  man  lay  stretched  full  length  on  the 
loading  board,  with  a  broad-brimmed  felt  hat  over 
his  eyes.  He  wore  a  gray  flannel  shirt  and  cordu- 
roy trousers  thrust  into  half-leg  laced  boots.  At  the 
sound  of  voices  he  turned  lazily  on  his  side  and 
watched  the  members  of  the  posse  swing  wearily 
from  their  saddles.  An  amiable  smile,  not  wholly 
free  of  friendly  derision,  lit  his  good-looking  face. 

"Oh,  you  sheriff,"  he  drawled. 

Collins  swung  round,  as  if  he  had  been  pricked 
with  a  knife  point.  He  stared  an  instant  before  he 
let  out  a  shout  of  welcome  and  fell  upon  the  youth. 

"Bucky,  by  thunder!" 

The  latter  got  up  nimbly  in  time  to  be  hospitably 
thumped  and  punched.  He  was  a  lithe,  slender 
young  fellow,  of  medium  height,  and  he  carried 
himself  lightly  with  that  manner  of  sunburned  com- 
petency given  only  by  the  rough-and-tumble  life  of 
the  outdoors  West. 

While  the  men  reloaded  the  car  he  and  the  sheriff 
stood  apart  and  talked  in  low  tones.  Collins  told 
what  he  knew,  both  what  he  had  seen  and  inferred, 
and  Bucky  heard  him  to  the  end. 

"Yes,  it  ce'tainly  looks  like  one  of  Wolf  Leroy's 
jobs,"  he  agreed  "Nobody  else  but  Leroy  would 

47 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


have  had  the  nerve  to  follow  you  right  up  to  the 
depot  and  put  the  kibosh  on  sending  those  wires. 
He's  surely  game  from  the  toes  up.  Think  of  him 
sittin'  there  reading  the  newspaper  half  an  hour  after 
he  held  up  the  Limited !" 

"Did  he  do  that,  Bucky  ?"  The  sheriff's  tone  con- 
ceded admiration. 

"He  did.  He's  the  only  train  robber  ever  in  the 
business  that  could  have  done  it.  Oh,  the  Wolf's 
tracks  are  all  over  this  job." 

"No  doubt  about  that.  I  told  you  I  recognized 
York  Neil  by  him  being  shy  that  trigger  finger  I 
fanned  off  down  at  Tombstone.  Well,  they  say  he's 
one  of  the  Wolf's  standbys." 

"Yes.  I  warned  him  two  months  ago  that  if  he 
didn't  break  away  he'd  die  sudden.  Somehow  I 
couldn't  persuade  him  he  was  an  awful  sick  man 
right  then.  You  saw  four  of  these  hold-ups  in  all, 
didn't  you,  Val?" 

"Four's  right.  First  off  Neil,  then  the  fellow  I 
took  to  be  the  Wolf.  After  he  went  out  a  bow- 
legged  fellow  came  in,  and  last  a  slim  little  kid 
that  was  a  sure  enough  amateur,  the  way  his  gun 
shook." 

"Any  notion  how  many  more  there  were  ?" 

"I  figured  out  two  more.  A  big  gazabo  in  a  red 
wig  held  up  Frost,  the  engineer.  He  knew  it  was  a 
wig  because  he  saw  long  black  hair  peeping  out 
around  his  neck.  Then  there  must  'a'  been  another 

48 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


in  charge  of  blowing  up  the  express  car,  a  Mexican, 
from  the  description  the  messenger  gives  of  him." 

Bucky  nodded.  "Looks  like  you  got  it  figured 
about  right,  Val.  The  Mexican  is  easy  to  account 
for.  The  Wolf  spends  about  half  his  time  down  in 
Chihuahua  and  trains  with  some  high-class  greasers 
down  there.  Well,  we'll  see  what  we'll  see.  I'll  set 
my  rangers  at  rounding  up  the  border  towns  a  bit, 
and  if  I  don't  start  anything  there  I'll  hike  down 
into  Mexico  and  see  what's  doing.  I'll  count  on  you 
to  run  the  Arizona  end  of  it  while  I'm  away,  Val. 
The  Wolf's  outfit  is  a  pretty  wild  one,  and  it  won't 
be  long  till  something  begins  to  howl.  We'll  keep 
an  eye  on  the  gambling  hells  and  see  who  is  burn- 
ing up  money.  Oh,  they'll  leave  plenty  of  smoke 
behind  them,"  the  ranger  concluded  cheerfully. 

"There  will  be  plenty  of  smoke  if  we  ever  do 
round  'em  up,  not  to  mention  a  heap  of  good  lead 
that  will  be  spilled/'  the  sheriff  agreed  placidly. 
"Well,  all  I  got  to  say  is  the  sooner  the  quicker. 
The  bunch  borrowed  a  mighty  good  .45  of  mine  I 
need  in  my  biz.  I  kinder  hanker  to  get  it  back  muy 
pronto/' 

"Here's  hoping/1  Bucky  nodded  gayly.  "I  bet 
there  will  be  a  right  lively  wolf  hunt.  Hello!  The 
car's  loaded.  All  aboard  for  Tucson." 

The  special  drew  out  from  the  side  track  and 
gathered  speed.  Soon  the  rhythmic  chant  of  the 
rails  sounded  monotonously,  and  the  plains  on  either 
side  of  the  track  swam  swiftly  to  the  rear. 

49 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A   BLUFF   IS    CALLED. 

Torpid  lay  Aravaipa  in  a  coma  of  sunbeat.  Its 
adobe-lined  streets  basked  in  the  white  glare  of  an 
Arizona  spring  at  midday.  One  or  two  Papago  In- 
dians, with  their  pottery  wares,  squatted  in  the  shade 
of  the  buildings,  but  otherwise  the  plaza  was  de- 
serted. Not  even  a  moving  dog  or  a  lounging  peon 
lent  life  to  the  drowsy  square.  Silence  profound 
and  peace  eternal  seemed  to  brood  over  the  land. 

Such  was  the  impression  borne  in  upon  the  young 
man  riding  townward  on  a  wiry  buckskin  that  had 
just  topped  the  rise  which  commanded  the  valley  be- 
low. The  rider  presented  a  striking  enough  appear- 
ance to  take  and  hold  the  roving  eye  of  any  young 
woman  in  search  of  romance.  He  was  a  slender, 
lithe  young  Adonis  of  medium  height.  His  hair  and 
eyebrows  left  one  doubtful  whether  to  pronounce 
them  black  or  brown,  but  the  eyes  called  for  an  im- 
mediate verdict  of  Irish  blue.  Every  inch  of  him 
spoke  of  competency — promised  mastership  of  any 
situation  likely  to  arise.  But  when  the  last  word 
is  said  it  was  the  eyes  that  dominated  the  person- 
ality. They  could  run  the  whole  gamut  of  emo- 
tions, or  they  could  be  impervious  as  a  stone  wall. 
Now  they  were  deep  and  innocent  as  a  girl's,  now 

50 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


they  rollicked  with  the  buoyant  youth  in  them.  Com- 
rades might  see  them  bubbling  with  fun,  and  the 
next  moment  enemies  find  them  opaque  as  a  leaden 
sky.  Not  the  least  wonder  of  them  was  that  they 
looked  out  from  under  long  lashes,  soft  enough  for 
any  maiden,  at  a  world  they  appraised  with  the 
shrewdness  of  a  veteran. 

The  young  man  drew  rein  above  the  valley,  sit- 
ting his  horse  in  the  easy,  negligent  fashion  of  one 
that  lives  in  the  saddle.  A  thumb  was  hitched  care- 
lessly in  the  front  pocket  of  his  chaps,  which 
pocket  served  also  as  a  holster  for  the  .45  that  pro- 
truded. 

Even  in  the  moment  that  he  sat  there  a  change 
came  over  Aravaipa.  As  a  summer  shower  sweeps 
across  a  lake  so  something  had  ruffled  the  town  to 
sudden  life.  From  stores  and  saloons  men  drib- 
bled, converging  toward  a  common  centre  hurriedly. 

"I  reckon,  Bucky,  the  band  has  begun  to  play," 
the  rider  told  himself  aloud.  "Mebbe  we  better 
move  on  down  in  time  for  the  music." 

But  no  half-expected  revolver  shots  shattered  the 
stillness,  even  though  interest  did  not  abate. 

"There's  ce'tainly  something  doing  at  the  Silver  ( 
Dollar  this  glad  mo'ning.  Chinks,  greasers,  and  se- 
vereal  other  kinds  of  citizens  driftin'  that  way,  not 
to  mention  white  men.  I  expect  there  will  be  room 
for  you,  Bucky,  if  you  hurry  before  the  seats  are  all 
sold  out." 

He  cantered  down  the  plaza,  swung  from  the  sad- 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


die,  threw  the  rein  over  the  pony's  head  to  the 
ground,  and  jingled  across  the  sidewalk  into  the 
gambling  house.  It  was  filled  with  a  motley  crowd 
of  miners,  vaqueros,  tourists,  cattlemen,  Mexicans, 
Chinese,  and  a  sample  of  the  rest  of  the  heterogene- 
ous population  of  the  Southwest.  Behind  this  as- 
semblage the  newcomer  tiptoed  in  vain  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  cause  of  the  excitement.  Wherefore, 
he  calmly  removed  an  almond-eyed  Oriental  from  a 
chair  on  which  he  was  standing,  tipped  the  ex-Can- 
tonese a  half  dollar,  and  appropriated  the  point  of 
vantage  himself. 

There  was  a  cleared  space  in  the  corner  by  the 
roulette  table,  and  here,  his  chair  tipped  back  against 
the  wall  and  a  glass  of  whisky  in  front  of  him,  sat 
a  sufficiently  strange  specimen  of  humanity.  He 
was  a  man  of  about  fifty  years,  large  boned  and 
gaunt.  Dressed  in  fringed  buckskin  trousers  and 
a  silver-laced  Mexican  sombrero,  he  affected  the  long 
hair,  the  sweeping  mustache,  and  the  ferocious  as- 
pect that  are  the  custom  of  the  pseudo-Westerners 
who  do  business  in  the  East  with  fake  medical  reme- 
dies. Around  his  waist  was  a  belt  garnished  with 
knives  by  the  dozen.  These  were  long  and  pointed, 
sharpened  to  a  razor  edge.  One  of  them  was  in  his 
hand  poised  for  a  throw  at  the  instant  Bucky 
mounted  the  chair  and  looked  over  the  densely 
packed  mass  of  heads  in  front  of  him. 

The  ranger's  keen  glance  swept  to  the  wall  and 
took  in  the  target.  A  slim  lad  of  about  fifteen  stood 

52 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


against  it  with  his  arms  outstretched.  Above  and 
below  each  hand  and  on  either  side  of  the  swelling 
throat  knives  quivered  in  the  frame  wall.  There 
was  a  flash  of  steel,  and  the  seventh  knife  sank  into 
the  wood  so  close  to  the  crisp  curls  that  a  lock 
hung  by  a  hair,  almost  completely  severed  by  the 
blade.  The  boy  choked  back  a  scream,  his  big 
brown  eyes  dilating  with  terror. 

The  bully  sipped  at  his  highball  and  deliberately 
selected  another  knife.  To  Bucky's  swift  inspection 
it  was  plain  he  had  drunk  too  much  and  that  a 
very  little  slip  might  make  an  end  of  the  boy.  The 
fascinated  horror  in  the  lad's  gaze  showed  that  he 
realized  his  danger. 

"Now,  f'ler  cit'zens,  I  will  continue  for  your 
'musement  by  puttin'  next  two  knives  on  right  and 
lef  sides  of  his  cheek.  Observe,  pleash,  that  these 
will  land  lesh  than  an  inch  from  hish  eyes.  As  the 

champion  knife  thrower  in  the  universh   I  claim 

» 

What  he  claimed  his  audience  had  to  guess,  for  at 
this  instant  another  person  took  a  part  in  the  act. 
Bucky  had  stepped  lightly  across  the  intervening 
space  on  the  shoulders  of  the  tightly  packed  crowd 
and  had  dropped  as  lightly  to  the  ground  in  front 
of  the  astonished  champion  of  the  universe. 

"I  reckon  you've  about  wore  out  that  target. 
What's  the  matter  with  trying  a  brand  new  one?" 
drawled  the  ranger,  his  quiet,  unwavering  eye  fixed 

53 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


on  the  bloated,  mottled  face  of  the  imitation  "bad 
man/' 

The  bully,  half  seas  over,  leaned  forward  and 
gripped  his  knife.  He  was  sober  enough  to  catch 
the  jeer  running  through  the  other's  words  without 
being  sufficiently  master  of  himself  to  appreciate 
the  menace  that  underlay  them. 

"Wha's  that?  Say  that  again!"  he  burst  out, 
purple  to  the  collar  line.  He  was  not  used  to  hav- 
ing beardless  boys  with  long,  soft  eyelashes  inter- 
fering with  his  amusements,  and  a  blind  rage 
flooded  his  heart. 

"I  allowed  that  a  change  of  targets  would  vary 
the  entertainment,  if  you  haven't  any  objections, 
seh,"  the  blue-eyed  stranger  explained  mildly. 

"Who  is  this  kid?"  demanded  the  bully,  with  a 
sweep  of  his  arm  toward  the  intruder. 

Nobody  seemed  to  know,  wherefore  the  ranger 
himself  gave  the  information  mildly: 

"Bucky  O'Connor  they  call  me." 

A  faint  murmur  of  surprise  soughed  through 
the  crowd,  for  Bucky  O'Connor  of  the  Arizona 
Rangers  was  by  way  of  being  a  public  hero  just 
now  on  account  of  his  capture  of  Fernendez,  the 
stage  robber.  But  the  knife  thrower  had  but  lately 
arrived  in  the  country.  The  youth  carried  with  him 
none  of  the  earmarks  of  his  trade,  unless  it  might 
be  that  quiet,  steady  gaze  that  seemed  to  search  the 
soul.  His  voice  was  soft  and  drawling,  his  manner 
almost  apologetic.  In  the  smile  that  came  and  went 

54 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


was  something  sweet  and  sunny,  in  his  bearing  a 
gay  charm  that  did  not  advertise  the  recklessness 
that  bubbled  from  his  daredevil  spirit.  Surely  here 
was  an  easy  victim  upon  whom  to  vent  his  spleen, 
thought  the  other  in  his  growing  passion. 

"You  want  to  be  my  target,  do  you?'*  he  de- 
manded, tugging  ferociously  at  his  long  mustache. 

"If  you  please,  seh." 

The  fellow  swore  a  vile  oath.  "Just  as  you  say. 
Line  up  beside  the  other  kid." 

With  three  strides  Bucky  reached  the  wall,  and 
turned. 

"Let  'er  go,"  his  gentle  voice  murmured. 

He  was  leaning  back  easily  against  the  wall,  his 
thumb  hitched  carelessly  in  the  revolver  pocket  of 
his  worn  leather  chaps.  He  looked  at  ease,  every 
jaunty  inch  of  him,  but  a  big  bronzed  cattleman 
who  had  just  pushed  his  way  in  noticed  that  the 
frosty  blue  eyes  never  released  for  an  instant  those 
of  the  enemy. 

The  bully  at  the  table  passed  an  uncertain  hand 
over  his  face  to  clear  his  blurred  vision,  poised  the 
cruel  blade  in  his  hand,  and  sent  it  flashing  for- 
ward with  incredible  swiftness.  The  steel  buried 
itself  two  inches  deep  in  the  soft  pine  beside  Bucky's 
head.  So  close  had  it  shaved  him  that  a  drop  of 
blood  gathered  and  dropped  from  his  ear  to  the 
floor. 

"Good  shot,"  commented  the  ranger  quietly,  and 
on  the  instant  his  revolver  seemed  to  leap  from  its 

55 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


holster  to  his  hand.  Without  raising  or  moving  his 
arm  in  the  least,  Bucky  fired. 

Again  a  murmur  eddied  through  the  crowd.  The 
bullet  had  neatly  bored  the  bully's  ear.  He  raised 
his  hand  in  dazed  fashion  and  brought  it  away 
covered  with  blood.  With  staring  eyes  he  looked  at 
his  moist  red  fingers,  then  at  his  latest  victim,  who 
was  proving  such  an  unexpected  surprise. 

The  big  cattleman,  who  by  this  time  had  pushed 
a  way  with  his  broad  shoulders  to  the  front,  ob- 
served the  two  men  attentively  with  a  derisive  smile 
on  his  frank  face.  He  was  seeing  a  bluff  called, 
and  he  enjoyed  it. 

"You'll  be  able  to  wear  earrings,  Mr.  Champion 
of  the  Universe,  after  I  have  ventilated  the  other," 
suggested  the  ranger  affably.  "Come  again,  seh." 

But  his  opponent  had  had  enough,  and  more  than 
enough.  It  was  one  thing  to  browbeat  a  harmless 
boy,  quite  another  to  measure  courage  with  a  young 
gamecock  like  this.  He  had  all  the  advantage  of  the 
first  move.  He  was  an  expert  and  could  drive  his 
first  throw  into  the  youth's  heart.  But  at  bottom  he 
was  a  coward  and  lacked  the  nerve,  if  not  the  in- 
clination, to  kill.  If  he  took  up  that  devil-may-care 
challenge  he  must  fight  it  out  alone.  Moreover,  as 
his  furtive  glance  went  round  the  ring  of  faces,  he 
doubted  whether  a  rope  and  the  nearest  telegraph 
pole  might  not  be  his  fate  if  he  went  the  limit. 
Sourly  he  accepted  defeat,  raging  in  his  craven  spirit 
at  the  necessity. 

56 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"Hell !     I  don't  fight  with  boys,"  he  snarled. 

"So?" 

Bucky  moved  forward  with  the  curious  lightness 
of  a  man  spring- footed.  His  gaze  held  the  other's 
shifting  eyes  as  he  plucked  the  knife  from  his  oppo- 
nent's hand. 

"Unbuckle  that  belt,"  he  ordered. 

All  said,  the  eye  is  a  prince  of  weapons.  It  is  a 
moral  force  more  potent  than  the  physical,  and  by  it 
men  may  measure  strength  to  a  certainty.  So  now 
these  two  clinched  and  battled  with  it  till  the  best 
man  won.  The  showman's  look  gave  way  before 
the  stark  courage  of  the  other.  His  was  no  match 
for  the  inscrutable,  unwavering  eye  that  commanded 
him.  His  fingers  began  to  twitch,  edged  slowly  to- 
ward his  waist.  For  an  instant  they  fumbled  at  the 
buckle  of  the  belt,  which  presently  fell  with  a  rattle 
to  the  floor. 

"Now,  roll  yore  trail  to  the  wall.  Face  this  way! 
Arms  out !  That's  good !  You  rest  there  comfort- 
able while  I  take  these  pins  down  and  let  the  kid 
out." 

He  removed  the  knives  that  hemmed  in  the  boy 
and  supported  the  half- fainting  figure  to  a  chair  be- 
side the  roulette  table.  But  always  he  remained  in 
such  a  position  as  to  keep  the  big  bully  he  was  bait- 
ing in  view.  The  boy  dropped  into  the  chair  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  sobbing  with  deep, 
broken  breaths.  The  ranger  touched  caressingly 

57 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


the  crisp,  fair  hair  that  covered  the  head  in  short 
carls. 

"Don't  you  worry,  bub.  Now,  don't  you.  It's 
all  over  with  now.  That  coyote  won't  pester  you 
any  more.  Will  you,  Mr.  False  Alarm  Bad  Man  ?" 

At  the  last  words  he  wheeled  suddenly  to  the 
showman.  "You're  right  sorry  already  you  got  so 
gay,  ain't  you?  Come!  Speak  yore  little  piece, 
please." 

He  waited  for  an  answer,  and  his  gaze  held  fast 
to  the  bloated  face  that  cringed  before  his  attack. 

"What's  your  name?" 

"Jay  Hardman,"  quavered  the  now  thoroughly  so- 
bered bad  man. 

"Dead  easy  jay,  I  reckon  you  mean.  Now,  chirp 
up  and  tell  the  boy  how  sorry  you  are  you  got  fresh 
with  your  hardware." 

"He's  my  boy.  I  guess  I  can  do  what  I  like  with 
him,"  the  man  burst  out  angrily.  "I  wasn't  hurting 
him  any,  either.  That's  part  of  our  show,  to " 

Bucky  fondled  suggestively  the  revolver  in  his 
hand.  A  metallic  click  came  to  his  victim. 

"Don't  you  shoot  at  me  again,"  the  man  broke  off 
to  scream. 

The  Colt  clipped  the  sentence  and  the  man's  other 
ear. 

"You  can  put  in  your  order  now  for  them  ear- 
rings we  were  mentioning  Mr.  Deadeasy.  You  see, 
I  had  to  puncture  this  one  so  folks  would  know  they 
were  mates." 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"I'll  put  you  in  the  pen  for  this,"  the  fellow 
whined,  in  terror. 

"Funny  how  you  will  get  off  the  subject.  We 
were  discussin'  an  apology  when  you  got  to  wan- 
dering in  yore  haid." 

The  mottled  face  showed  white  in  patches.  Beads 
of  perspiration  stood  out  on  the  forehead  of  Hard- 
man.  "I  didn't  aim  to  hurt  him  any.  I'll  be  right 
glad  to  explain  to  you " 

A  bullet  plowed  a  path  through  the  long  hair  that 
fell  to  the  showman's  shoulders  and  snipped  a  lock 
from  it. 

"You  don't  need  to  explain  a  thing  to  me,  seh. 
I'm  sure  resting  easy  in  my  mind.  But  as  you  were 
about  to  re-mark  you're  fair  honin'  for  a  chance  to 
ask  the  kid's  pardon.  Now,  ain't  I  a  mind  reader, 
seh?" 

A  trembling  voice  stammered  huskily  an  apology. 

"Better  late  than  too  late.  Now,  I've  a  good 
mind  to  take  a  vote  whether  I'd  better  unload  the 
rest  of  the  pills  in  this  old  reliable  medicine  box  at 
you.  Mebbe  I  ought  to  pump  one  into  that  coyote 
heart  of  yours." 

The  fellow  went  livid.  "My  God,  you  wouldn't 
kill  an  unarmed  man,  would  you?" 

For  answer  the  ranger  tossed  the  weapon  on  the 
table  with  a  scornful  laugh  and  strode  up  to  the 
other.  The  would-be  bad  man  towered  six  inches 
above  him,  and  weighed  half  as  much  again.  But 

59 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


O'Connor  whirled  him  round,  propelled  him  for- 
ward to  the  door,  and  kicked  him  into  the  street. 

"I'd  hate  to  waste  a  funeral  on  him"  he  said,  as 
he  sauntered  back  to  the  boy  at  the  table. 

The  lad  was  beginning  to  recover,  though  his 
breath  still  came  with  a  catch.  His  rag  of  a  hand- 
kerchief was  dabbing  tears  out  of  his  eyes.  O'Con- 
nor noticed  how  soft  his  hands  and  how  delicate  his 
features. 

"This  kid  ain't  got  any  more  business  than  a  rab- 
bit going  around  in  the  show  line  with  that  big 
scoundrel.  He's  one  of  these  gentle,  rock-me-to- 
sleep-mother  kids  that  ought  to  stay  in  the  home  nest 
and  not  go  buttin'  into  this  hard  world.  I'll  bet  a 
doughnut  he's  an  orphan,  though." 

Bucky  had  been  brought  up  in  the  school  of  ex- 
perience, where  every  student  keeps  his  own  head  or 
goes  to  the  wall.  All  his  short  life  he  had  played 
a  lone  hand,  as  he  would  have  phrased  it.  He  had 
campaigned  in  Cuba  as  a  mere  boy.  He  had  rid- 
den the  range  and  held  his  own  on  the  hurricane 
deck  of  a  bucking  broncho.  From  cowpunching  he 
had  graduated  into  the  tough  little  body  of  terri- 
torial rangers  at  the  head  of  which  was  "Hurry  Up"\ 
Millikan.  This  had  brought  him  a  large  and  turbu- 
lent experience  in  the  knack  of  taking  care  of  him- 
self under  all  circumstances.  Naturally,  a  man  of 
this  type,  born  and  bred  to  the  code  of  the  outdoors 
West,  could  not  fail  of  a  certain  contempt  for  a 

60 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


boy  that  broke  down  and  cried  when  the  game  was 
going  against  him. 

But  Bucky's  contempt  was  tolerant,  after  all.  He 
could  not  deny  his  sympathy  to  a  youngster  in 
trouble.  Again  he  touched  gently  the  lad's  crisp 
curls  of  burnished  gold. 

"Brace  up,  bub.  The  worst  is  yet  to  come,"  he 
laughed  awkwardly.  "I  reckon  there's  no  use  spill- 
in'  any  more  emotion  over  it.  He  ain't  your  dad, 
is  he?" 

The  lad's  big  brown  eyes  looked  up  into  the 
serene  blue  ones  and  found  comfort  in  their 
strength.  "No,  he's  my  uncle — and  my  master." 

"This  is  a  free  country,  son.  We  don't  have  mas- 
ters if  we're  good  Americans,  though  we  all  have 
to  take  orders  from  our  superior  officers.  You  don't 
need  to  serve  this  fellow  unless  you  want  to.  That's 
a  cinch." 

The  boy's  troubled  eyes  were  filmed  with  reminis- 
cent terror.  "You  don't  know  him.  He  is  terrible 
when  he  is  angry,"  he  murmured. 

"I  don't  think  it,"  returned  Bucky  contemptu- 
ously. "He's  the  worst  blowhard  ever.  Say  the 
word  and  I'll  run  the  piker  out  of  town  for  you." 

The  boy  whipped  up  the  sleeve  of  the  fancy  Mex- 
ican jacket  he  wore  and  showed  a  long  scar  on  his 
arm.  "He  did  that  one  day  when  he  was  angry  at 
me.  He  pretended  to  others  that  it  was  an  acci- 
dent, but  I  knew  better.  This  morning  I  begged 
him  to  let  me  leave  him.  He  beat  me,  but  he  was 

61 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


still  mad;  and  when  he  took  to  drinking  I  was  afraid 
he  would  work  himself  up  to  stick  me  again  with 
one  of  his  knives." 

Bucky  looked  at  the  scar  in  the  soft,  rounded 
arm  and  swept  the  boy  with  a  sudden  puzzled  glance 
that  was  not  suspicion  but  wonder. 

"How  long  have  you  been  with  him,  kid?" 

"Oh,  for  years.  Ever  since  I  was  a  little  fel- 
low. He  took  me  after  my  father  and  mother  died 
of  yellow  fever  in  New  Orleans.  His  wife  hates 
me  too,  but  they  have  to  have  me  in  the  show." 

"Then  I  guess  you  had  better  quit  their  company. 
What's  your  name?" 

"Frank  Hardman.  On  the  show  bills  I  have  all 
sorts  of  names." 

"Well,  Frank,  how  would  you  like  to  go  to  live 
on  a  ranch?" 

"Where  he  wouldn't  know  I  was  ?"  whispered  the 
boy  eagerly. 

"If  you  like.  I  know  a  ranch  where  you'd  be 
right  welcome." 

"I  would  work.  I  would  do  anything  I  could. 
Really,  I  would  try  to  pay  my  way,  and  I  don't  eat 
much,"  Frank  cried,  his  eyes  as  appealing  as  a 
homeless  puppy's. 

Bucky  smiled.  "I  expect  they  can  stand  all  you 
eat  without  going  to  the  poorhouse.  It's  a  bargain 
then.  I'll  take  you  out  there  to-morrow." 

"You're  so  good  to  me.  I  never  had  anybody  be 
62 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


so  good  before."  Tears  stood  in  the  big  eyes  and 
splashed  over. 

"Cut  out  the  water  works,  kid.  You  want  to 
take  a  brace  and  act  like  a  man,"  advised  his  new 
friend  brusquely. 

"I  know.  I  know.  If  you  knew  what  I  have 
done  maybe  you  wouldn't  ask  me  to  go  with  you. 
I — I  can't  tell  you  anything  more  than  that,"  the 
youngster  sobbed. 

"Oh,  well.  What's  the  diff?  You're  making  a 
new  start  to-day.  Ain't  that  right?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Call  me  Bucky." 

"Yes,  sir.     Bucky,  I  mean." 

A  hand  fell  on  the  ranger's  shoulder  and  a  voice 
in  his  ear.  "Young  man,  I  want  you." 

The  lieutenant  whirled  like  a  streak  of  lightning, 
finger  on  trigger  already.  "I'll  trouble  you  for  yore 
warrant,  seh,"  he  retorted. 

The  man  confronting  him  was  the  big  cattleman 
who  had  entered  the  Silver  Dollar  in  time  to  see 
O'Connor's  victory  over  the  showman.  Now  he 
stood  serenely  under  Bucky's  gun  and  laughed. 

"Put  up  your  .45,  my  friend.  It's  a  peaceable 
conference  I  want  with  you." 

The  level  eyes  of  the  young  man  fastened  on  those 
of  the  cattleman,  and,  before  he  spoke  again,  were 
satisfied.  For  both  of  these  men  belonged  to  the 
old  West  whose  word  is  as  good  as  its  bond,  that 
West  which  will  go  the  limit  for  a  cause  once  under- 

63 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


taken  without  any  thought  of  retreat,  regardless  of 
the  odds  or  the  letter  of  the  law.  Though  they 
had  never  met  before,  each  knew  at  a  glance  the 
manner  of  man  the  other  was. 

"All  right,  seh.  If  you  want  me  I  reckon  I'm  here 
large  as  life,"  the  ranger  said. 

"We'll  adjourn  to  the  poker  room  upstairs  then, 
Mr.  O'Connor." 

Bucky  laid  a  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  boy. 
"This  kid  goes  with  me.  I'm  keeping  an  eye  on 
him  for  the  present." 

"My  business  is  private,  but  I  expect  that  can  be 
arranged.  We'll  take  the  inner  room  and  let  him 
have  the  outer." 

"Good  enough.  Break  trail,  seh.  Come  along, 
Frank." 

Having  reached  the  poker  room  upstairs,  that 
same  private  room  which  had  seen  many  a  big  game 
in  its  day  between  the  big  cattle  kings  and  mining 
rmen  of  the  Southwest,  Bucky's  host  ordered  refresh- 
ments and  then  unfolded  his  business. 

"You  don't  know  me,  lieutenant,  do  you?" 

"I  haven't  that  pleasure,  seh." 

"I  am  Major  Mackenzie's  brother." 

"Webb  Mackenzie,  who  came  from  Texas  last 
year  and  bought  the  Rocking  Chair  Ranch?" 

"The  same." 

"I'm  right  glad  to  meet  you,  seh." 

"And  I  can  say  the  same." 

Webb  Mackenzie  was  so  distinctively  a  product 

64 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


of  the  West  that  no  other  segment  of  the  globe 
could  have  produced  him.  Big,  raw-boned,  tanned 
to  a  leathery  brick-brown,  he  was  as  much  of  the 
frontier  as  the  ten  thousand  cows  he  owned  that  ran 
the  range  on  half  as  many  hills  and  draws.  He 
stood  six  feet  two  and  tipped  the  beam  at  two  hun- 
dred twelve  pounds,  not  an  ounce  of  which  was 
superfluous  flesh.  Temperamentally,  he  was  frank, 
imperious,  free-hearted,  what  men  call  a  prince.  He 
wore  a  loose  tailor-made  suit  of  brown  stuff  and  a 
broad-brimmed  light-gray  Stetson.  For  the  rest, 
you  may  see  a  hundred  like  him  at  the  yearly  stock 
convention  held  in  Denver,  but  you  will  never  meet 
a  man  even  among  them  with  a  sounder  heart  or 
better  disposition. 

"I've  got  a  story  to  tell  you,  Lieutenant  O'Con- 
nor," he  began.  "I've  been  meaning  to  see  you  and 
tell  it  ever  since  you  made  good  in  that  Fernendez 
matter.  It  wasn't  your  gameness.  Anybody  can 
be  game.  But  it  looked  to  me  like  you  were  using 
the  brains  in  the  top  of  your  head,  and  that  happens 
so  seldom  among  law  officers  I  wanted  to  have  a 
talk  with  you.  Since  yesterday  I've  been  more  anx- 
ious. For  why?  I  got  a  letter  from  my  brother 
telling  me  Sheriff  Collins  showed  him  a  locket  he 
found  at  the  place  of  the  T.  P.  Limited  hold-up. 
That  locket  has  in  it  a  photograph  of  my  wife  and 
little  girl.  For  fifteen  years  I  haven't  seen  that 
picture.  When  I  saw  it  last  'twas  round  my  little 

65 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


baby's  neck.     What's  more,  I  haven't  seen  her  in 
that  time,  either." 

Mackenzie  stopped,  swallowed  hard,  and  took  a 
drink  of  water. 

"You  haven't  seen  your  little  girl  in  fifteen  years," 
'exclaimed  Bucky. 

"Haven't  seen  or  heard  of  her.  So  far  as  I 
know  she  may  not  be  alive  now.  This  locket  is 
the  first  hint  I  have  had  since  she  was  taken  away, 
the  very  first  news  of  her  that  has  reached  me,  and 
I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  that.  One  of  the 
robbers  must  have  been  wearing  it,  the  way  I  figure 
it  out.  Where  did  he  get  it?  That's  what  I  want 
to  know." 

"Suppose  you  tell  me  the  story,  seh,"  suggested 
the  ranger  gently. 

The  cattleman  offered  O'Connor  a  cigar  and  lit 
one  himself.  For  a  minute  he  puffed  slowly  at  his 
Havana,  leaning  far  back  in  his  chair  with  eyes 
reminiscent  and  half  shut.  Then  he  shook  himself 
•back  into  the  present  and  began  his  tale. 
*  "I  don't  reckon  you  ever  heard  tell  of  Dave  Hen- 
derson. It  was  back  in  Texas  I  knew  him,  and  he's 
been  missing  sixteen  years  come  the  eleventh  of  next 
August.  For  fifteen  years  I  haven't  mentioned  his 
name,  because  Dave  did  me  the  dirtiest  wrong  that 
one  man  ever  did  another.  Back  in  the  old  days 
he  and  I  used  to  trail  together.  We  was  awful 
thick,  and  mostly  hunted  in  couples.  We  began 
riding  the  same  season  back  on  the  old  Kittredge 

66 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


Ranch,  and  we  went  in  together  for  all  the  kinds 
of  spreeing  that  young  fellows  who  are  footloose 
are  likely  to  do.  Fact  is,  we  suited  each  other  from 
the  ground  up.  We  frolicked  round  a-plenty,  like 
young  colts  will,  and  there  was  nothing  on  this 
green  earth  Dave  could  have  asked  from  me  that 
I  wouldn't  have  done  for  him.  Nothing  except  one, 
I  reckon,  and  Dave  never  asked  that  of  me." 

Mackenzie  puffed  at  his  cigar  a  silent  moment  be- 
fore resuming.  "It  happened  we  both  fell  in  love 
with  the  same  girl,  little  Frances  Clark,  of  the 
Double  T  Ranch.  Dave  was  a  better  looker  than 
me  and  a  more  taking  fellow,  but  somehow  Frances 
favored  me  from  the  start.  Dave  stayed  till  the 
finish,  and  when  he  seen  he  had  lost  he  stood  up 
with  me  at  the  wedding.  We  had  agreed,  you  see, 
that  whoever  won  it  wasn't  to  break  up  our  friend- 
ship. 

"Well,  Frankie  and  I  were  married,  and  in  course 
of  time  we  had  two  children.  My  boy,  Tom,  is  the 
older.  The  other  was  a  little  girl,  named  after  her 
mother."  The  cattleman  waited  a  moment  to  steady 
his  voice,  and  spoke  through  teeth  set  deep  in  his 
Havana.  "I  haven't  seen  her,  as  I  said,  since  she 
was  two  years  and  ten  months  old — not  since  the 
night  Dave  disappeared." 

Bucky  looked  up  quickly  with  a  question  on  his 
lips,  but  he  did  not  need  to  word  it. 

Mackenzie  nodded.  "Yes,  Dave  took  her  with 
him  when  he  lit  out  across  the  line  for  Mexico. 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


But  I'll  have  to  go  back  to  something  that  hap- 
pened earlier.  About  three  months  before  this  time 
Dave  and  me  were  riding  through  a  cut  in  the  Sierra 
Diablo  Mountains,  when  we  came  on  a  Mexican 
who  had  been  wounded  by  the  Apaches.  I  reckon 
we  had  come  along  just  in  time  to  scare  them  off 
before  they  finished  him.  We  did  our  best  for 
him,  but  he  died  in  about  two  hours.  Before  dying, 
he  made  us  a  present  of  a  map  we  found  in  his 
breast  pocket.  It  showed  the  location  of  a  very 
rich  mine  he  had  found,  and  as  he  had  no  near  kin 
he  turned  it  over  to  us  to  do  with  as  we  pleased. 

"Just  then  the  round-up  came  on,  and  we  were 
too  busy  to  pay  much  attention  to  the  mine.  Each 
of  us  would  have  trusted  the  other  with  his  life,  or 
so  I  thought.  But  we  cut  the  paper  in  half,  each  of 
us  keeping  one  part,  in  order  that  nobody  else  could 
steal  the  secret  from  the  one  that  held  the  paper. 
The  last  time  I  had  been  in  El  Paso  I  had  bought 
my  little  girl  a  gold  chain  with  two  lockets  pendent. 
These  lockets  opened  by  a  secret  spring,  and  in  one 
of  them  I  put  my  half  of  the  map.  It  seemed  as 
safe  a  place  as  I  could  devise,  for  the  chain  never 
left  the  child's  neck,  and  nobody  except  her  mother, 
Dave,  and  I  knew  that  it  was  placed  there.  Dave 
hid  his  half  under  a  rock  that  was  known  to  both 
of  us.  The  strange  thing  about  the  story  is  that 
my  false  friend,  in  the  hurry  of  his  flight,  forgot  to 
take  his  section  of  the  map  with  him.  I  found  it 
under  the  rock  next  day,  so  that  his  vile  treachery 

68 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


availed  him  nothing  from  a  mercenary  point  of 
view." 

"Didn't  take  his  half  of  the  map  with  him? 
That's  right  funny,"  Bucky  mused  aloud. 

"We  never  could  understand  why  he  didn't." 

"Mebbe  if  you  understood  that  a  heap  of  things 
might  be  clear  that  are  dark  now." 

"Mebbe.  Knowing  Dave  Henderson  as  I  did,  or, 
rather,  as  I  thought  I  did,  such  treachery  as  his  was 
almost  unbelievable.  He  was  the  sweetest,  sunniest 
soul  I  ever  knew,  and  no  two  brothers  could  have 
been  as  fond  of  each  other  as  we  seemed  to  be. 
But  there  was  no  chance  of  mistake.  He  had 
gone,  and  taken  our  child  with  him,  likely  in  ac- 
cordance with  a  plan  of  revenge  long  cherished  by 
him.  We  never  heard  of  him  or  the  child  again. 
They  disappeared  as  completely  as  if  the  earth  had 
swallowed  them  up.  Our  cook,  too,  left  with  him 
that  evil  night." 

"Your  cook?"  It  was  the  second  comment  Bucky 
had  ventured,  and  it  came  incisively.  "What  man- 
ner of  man  was  he?" 

"A  huge,  lumbering  braggart.  I  could  never  un- 
derstand why  Dave  took  the  man  with  him." 

"If  he  did." 

"But  I  tell  you  he  did.  They  disappeared  the 
same  night,  and  the  trail  showed  they  went  the 
same  road.  We  followed  them  for  about  an  hour 
next  day,  but  a  heavy  rain  came  up  and  blotted  out 
the  tracks." 

69 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


'  "What  was  the  cook's  name?" 

"Jeff  Anderson." 

"Have  you  a  picture  of  him,  or  one  of  your 
friend?" 

"Back  at  the  ranch  I  had  pictures  of  Dave,  but 
I  burned  them  after  he  left.  Yes,  I  reckon  we  have 
one  of  Anderson,  standing  in  front  of  the  chuck 
wagon." 

"Send  it  to  me,  please." 

"All  right." 

The  ranger  asked  a  few  questions  that  made 
clearer  the  situation  on  the  day  of  the  kidnaping, 
and  some  more  concerning  Anderson,  then  fell  again 
into  the  role  of  a  listener  while  Mackenzie  concluded 
his  story. 

•'All  these  years  I  have  kept  my  eyes  open,  con- 
fident that  at  last  I  would  discover  something  that 
would  help  me  to  discover  the  whereabouts  of  my 
child,  or,  at  least,  give  me  a  chance  to  punish  the 
scoundrel  who  betrayed  my  confidence.  Yesterday 
my  brother's  letter  gave  the  first  clue  we  have  had. 
I  want  that  lead  worked.  Ferret  this  thing  out  to 
kthe  bottom,  lieutenant.  Get  me  something  definite 
.to  go  on.  That's  what  I  want  you  to  do.  Run  the 
thing  to  earth,  get  at  the  facts,  and  find  my  child 
for  me.  I'll  give  you  carte  blanche  up  to  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  All  I  ask  of  you  is  to  make 
good.  Find  the  little  girl,  or  else  bring  me  face  to 
face  with  that  villain  Henderson.  Can  you  do  it?" 

O'Connor  was  strangely  interested  in  this  story 
70 


BUCKY   O'CONuOk 


of  treachery  and  mystery.  He  rose  with  shining 
eyes  and  held  out  his  hand.  "I  don't  know,  seh, 
but  I'll  try  damned  hard  to  do  three  things:  find 
out  what  has  become  of  the  little  girl,  of  Dave 
Henderson,  and  of  the  scoundrel  who  stole  your 
baby  because  he  thought  the  map  was  in  the  locket." 

"You  mean  that  you  don't  think  Dave " 

"That  is  exactly  what  I  mean.  Your  cook,  An- 
derson, kidnaped  the  child,  looks  like  to  me.  I  saw 
that  locket  Collins  found.  My  guess  was  that  the 
marks  on  the  end  of  the  chain  were  deep  teeth 
marks.  The  man  that  stole  your  baby  tried  first 
to  cut  the  chain  with  his  teeth  so  as  to  steal  the 
chain.  You  see,  he  could  not  find  the  clasp  in  the 
dark.  Then  the  child  wakened  and  began  to  cry. 
He  clapped  a  hand  over  its  mouth  and  carried  the 
little  girl  out  of  the  room.  Then  he  heard  some- 
body moving  about,  lost  his  nerve,  and  jumped  on 
the  horse  that  was  waiting,  saddled,  at  the  door. 
He  took  the  child  along  simply  because  he  had  to  in 
order  to  get  the  chain  and  the  secret  he  thought  it 
held." 

"Perhaps;  but  that  does  not  prove  it  was  not 
Dave." 

"It's  contributory  evidence,  seh.  Your  friend 
could  have  slipped  the  chain  from  her  neck  any  day, 
or  he  could  have  opened  the  locket  and  taken  the 
map.  No  need  for  him  to  steal  in  at  night.  Do 
you  happen  to  remember  whether  your  little  girl 
had  any  particular  aversion  to  the  cook?" 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


The  cattleman's  forehead  frowned  in  thought.  "I 
do  remember,  now,  that  she  was  afraid  of  him.  She 
always  ran  screaming  to  her  mother  when  he  tried 
to  be  friendly  with  her.  He  was  a  sour  sort  of 
fellow/' 

"That  helps  out  the  case  a  heap,  for  it  shows  that 
'  *ie  wanted  to  make  friends  with  her  and  she  re- 
fused. He  was  thus  forced  to  take  the  chain  when 
she  was  asleep  instead  of  playing  with  her  till  he 
had  discovered  the  spring  and  could  simply  take  the 
map." 

"But  he  didn't  know  anything  about  the  map.  He 
was  not  in  our  confidence." 

"You  and  your  friend  talked  it  over  evenings 
when  he  was  at  the  ranch,  and  other  places,  too,  I 
expect." 

"Yes,  our  talk  kind  of  gravitated  that  way  when- 
ever we  got  together." 

"Well,  this  fellow  overheard  you.  That's  prob- 
able, at  least." 

"But  you're  ignoring  the  important  fact.  Dave 
disappeared  too  that  night,  with  my  little  girl." 

Bucky  cut  in  sharply  with  a  question.  "Did  he  ? 
,  How  do  you  know  he  disappeared  with  her  ?  Why 
,  not  after f  That's  the  theory  my  mind  is  groping  on 
just  now." 

"That's  a  blind  trail  to  me.  Why  after?  And 
what  difference  does  it  make?" 

"All  the  difference  in  the  world.  If  he  left  after 
72 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


the  cook,  you  have  been  doing  him  an  injustice  for 
fifteen  years,  seh." 

Mackenzie  leaned  forward,  excitement  burning 
in  his  eyes.  'Trove  that,  young  man,  and  I'll  thank 
you  to  the  last  day  of  my  life.  It's  for  my  wife's 
sake  more  than  my  own  I  want  my  little  girl  back. 
She  jes'  pines  for  her  every  day  of  her  life.  But 
for  my  friend — if  you  can  give  me  back  the  clean 
memory  of  Dave  you'll  have  done  a  big  thing  for 
me,  Mr.  O'Connor." 

"It's  only  a  working  theory,  but  this  is  what  I'm 
getting  at.  You  and  Henderson  had  arranged  to 
take  an  early  start  on  a  two  days'  deer  hunt  next 
mo'ning.  That's  what  you  told  me,  isn't  it?" 

"We  were  to  start  about  four.     Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  let's  suppose  a  case.  Along  comes  Dave 
before  daybreak,  when  the  first  hooters  were  begin- 
ning to  call.  Just  as  he  reaches  your  ranch  he  no- 
tices a  horse  slipping  away  in  the  darkness.  Per- 
haps he  hears  the  little  girl  cry  out.  Anyhow,  in- 
stead of  turning  in  at  the  gate,  he  decides  to  follow. 
Probably  he  isn't  sure  there's  anything  wrong,  but 
when  he  finds  out  how  the  horse  he's  after  is  burn- 
ing the  wind  his  suspicions  grow  stronger.  He  set- 
tles down  to  a  long  chase.  In  the  darkness,  we'll 
say,  he  loses  his  man,  but  when  it  gets  lighter  he 
picks  up  the  trail  again.  The  tracks  lead  south, 
across  the  line  into  Mexico.  Still  he  keeps  plodding 
on.  The  man  in  front  sees  him  behind  and  gets 
scared  because  he  can't  shake  him  off.  Very  likelj 

73 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


he  thinks  it  is  you  on  his  track.  Anyhow,  while  the 
child  is  asleep  he  waits  in  ambush,  and  when  Hen- 
derson rides  up  he  shoots  him  down.  Then  he 
pushes  on  deeper  into  Chihuahua,  and  proceeds  to 
lose  himself  there  by  changing  his  name." 

"You  think  he  murdered  Dave  ?"  The  cattleman 
got  up  and  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  floor. 

"I  think  it  possible." 

Webb  Mackenzie's  face  was  pallid,  but  there  was 
a  new  light  of  hope  in  it.  "I  believe  you're  right. 
God  knows  I  hope  so.  That  may  sound  a  horrible 
thing  to  say  of  my  best  friend,  but  if  it  has  got  to 
be  one  or  the  other — if  it  is  certain  that  my  old 
bunkie  came  to  his  death  foully  in  Chihuahua  while 
trying  to  save  my  baby,  or  is  alive  to-day,  a  skulk- 
ing coward  and  villain — with  all  my  heart  I  hope  he 
is  dead."  He  spoke  with  a  passionate  intensity 
which  showed  how  much  he  had  cared  for  his  early 
friend,  and  how  much  the  latter's  apparent  treachery 
had  cut  him.  "I  hope  you'll  never  have  a  friend  go 
back  on  you,  Mr.  O'Connor,  the  one  friend  you 
would  have  banked  on  to  a  finish.  Why,  Dave 
Henderson  saved  my  life  from  a  bunch  of  Apaches 
once  when  it  was  dollars  to  doughnuts  he  would  lose 
his  own  if  he  tried  it.  We  were  prospecting  in  the 
Galiuros  together,  and  one  mo'ning  when  he  went 
down  to  the  creek  to  water  the  hawsses  he  sighted 
three  of  the  red  devils  edging  up  toward  the  cabin. 
There  might  have  been  fifty  of  them  there  for  all 

74 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


he  knew,  and  he  had  a  clear  run  to  the  plains  if  he 
wanted  to  back  one  of  the  ponies  and  take  it.  Most 
any  man  would  have  saved  his  own  skin,  but  not 
Dave.  He  hoofed  it  back  to  the  cabin,  under  fire 
every  foot  of  the  way,  and  together  we  made  it 
so  hot  for  them  that  they  finally  gave  up  getting  us. 
We  were  in  the  Texas  Rangers  together,  and  pulled 
each  other  through  a  lot  of  close  places.  And 

then  at  the  end Why,  it  hurt  me  more  than  it 

did  losing  my  own  little  girl." 

Bucky  nodded.  Since  he  was  a  man  and  not  a 
father,  he  could  understand  how  the  hurt  would 
rankle  year  after  year  at  the  defalcation  of  his  com- 
rade. 

"That's  another  kink  we  have  got  to  unravel  in 
this  tangle.  First  off,  there's  your  little  girl,  to  find 
if  she  is  still  alive.  Second,  we  must  locate  Dave 
Henderson  or  his  grave.  Third,  there's  something 
due  the  scoundrel  who  is  responsible  for  this. 
Fourthly,  brethren,  there's  that  map  section  to  find. 
And  lastly,  we've  got  to  find  just  how  this  story 
you've  told  me  got  mixed  with  the  story  of  the  hold- 
up of  the  Limited.  For  it  ce'tainly  looks  as  if  the 
two  hang  together.  I  take  it  that  the  thing  to  do  is 
to  run  down  the  gang  that  held  up  the  Limited. 
Once  we  do  that,  we  ought  to  find  the  key  to  the 
mystery  of  your  little  girl's  disappearance.  Or,  at 
least,  there  is  a  chance  we  shall.  And  it's  chances 
we've  got  to  gamble  on  in  this  thing." 

75 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"Good  enough.  I  like  the  way  you  go  at  this. 
Already  I  feel  a  heap  better  than  I  did." 

"If  the  cards  fall  our  way  you're  going  to  get  this 
thing  settled  once  for  all.  I  can't  promise  my  news 
will  be  good  news  when  I  get  it,  but  anything  will 
be  better  than  the  uncertainty  you've  been  in,  I  take 
it,"  said  Bucky,  rising  from  his  chair. 

"You're  right  there.  But,  wait  a  moment.  Let's 
drink  to  your  success." 

"I'm  not  much  of  a  sport,"  Bucky  smiled.  "Fact 
is,  I  never  drink,  seh." 

"Of  course.  I  remember,  now.  You're  the  good 
bad  man  of  the  West,"  Mackenzie  answered  amia- 
bly. "Well,  I  drink  to  you.  Here's  good  hunting, 
lieutenant." 

"Thank  you." 

"I  suppose  you'll  get  right  at  this  thing?" 

"I've  got  to  take  that  kid  in  the  next  room  out 
to  my  ranch  first.  I  won't  stand  for  that  knife 
thrower  making  a  slave  of  him." 

"What's  the  matter  with  me  taking  the  boy  out 
to  the  Rocking  Chair  with  me?  My  wife  and  I  will 
see  he's  looked  after  till  you  return." 

"That  would  be  the  best  plan,  if  it  won't  trouble 
you  too  much.  We'd  better  keep  his  whereabouts 
quiet  till  this  fellow  Hardman  is  out  of  the  coun- 
try." 

"Yes,  though  I  hardly  think  he'd  be  fool  enough 
to  show  up  at  the  Rocking  Chair.  If  my  vaqueros 
met  up  with  him  prowling  around  they  might  show 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


him  as  warm  a  welcome  as  you  did  half  an  hour 
ago." 

"A  chapping  would  sure  do  him  a  heap  of  good," 
grinned  Bucky,  and  so  dismissed  the  Champion  of 
the  World  from  his  mind. 


77 


CHAPTER  V. 

BUCKY    ENTERTAINS. 

Bucky  began  at  once  to  tap  the  underground  wires 
his  official  position  made  accessible  to  him.  These 
ran  over  Southern  Arizona,  Sonora,  and  Chihuahua. 
All  the  places  to  which  criminals  or  frontiersmen 
with  money  were  wont  to  resort  were  reported 
upon.  For  the  ranger's  experience  had  taught  him 
that  since  the  men  he  wanted  had  money  in  their 
pockets  to  burn  gregarious  impulse  would  drive 
them  from  the  far  silent  places  of  the  desert  to  the 
roulette  and  faro  tables  where  the  wolf  and  the  lamb 
disport  themselves  together. 

The  photograph  from  Webb  Mackenzie  of  the 
cook  Anderson  reached  him  at  Tucson  the  third 
day  after  his  interview  with  that  gentleman,  at  the 
same  time  that  Collins  dropped  in  on  him  to  in- 
quire what  progress  he  was  making. 

O'Connor  told  him  of  the  Aravaipa  episode,  and 
tossed  across  the  table  to  him  the  photograph  he  had 
just  received. 

"If  we  could  discover  the  gent  that  sat  for  this 
photo  it  might  help  us.  You  don't  by  any  chance 
know  him,  do  you,  Val?" 

The  sheriff  shook  his  head.  "Not  in  my  rogues' 
gallery,  Bucky." 

78 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


The  ranger  again  examined  the  faded  picture. 
A  resemblance  in  it  to  somebody  he  had  met  recently 
haunted  vaguely  his  memory.  As  he  looked  the  in- 
definite suggestion  grew  sharp  and  clear.  It  was  a 
I  photograph  of  the  showman  who  had  called  him- 
1  self  Hardman.  All  the  trimmings  were  lacking,  to 
be  sure — the  fierce  mustache,  the  long  hair,  the  buck- 
'  skin  trappings,  none  of  them  were  here.  But  be- 
yond a  doubt  it  was  the  same  shifty-eyed  villain. 
Nor  did  it  shake  Bucky's  confidence  that  Mackenzie 
had  seen  him  and  failed  to  recognize  the  man  as  his 
old  cook.  The  fellow  was  thoroughly  disguised, 
but  the  camera  had  happened  to  catch  that  curious 
furtive  glance  of  his.  But  for  that  O'Connor  would 
never  have  known  the  two  to  be  the  same. 

Bucky  was  at  the  telephone  half  an  hour.  In  the 
middle  of  the  next  afternoon  his  reward  came  in  the 
form  of  a  Western  Union  billet.  It  read: 

"Eastern  man  says  you  don't  want  what  is  sala- 
ble here." 

The  lieutenant  cut  out  every  other  word  and  gar- 
nered the  wheat  of  the  message: 

"Man  you  want  is  here." 

The  telegram  was  marked  from  Epitaph,  and  for 
that  town  the  ranger  and  the  sheriff  entrained  imme- 
diately. 

Bucky's  eye  searched  in  vain  the  platform  of  the 
•Epitaph  depot  for  Malloy,  of  the  Rangers,  whose 
wire  had  brought  him  here.  The  cause  of  the  lat- 

79 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


ter's  absence  was  soon  made  clear  to  him  in  a  note 
he  found  waiting  for  him  at  the  hotel : 

"The  old  man  has  just  sent  me  out  on  hurry-up 
orders.  Don't  know  when  I'll  get  back.  Suggest 
you  take  in  the  show  at  the  opera  house  to-night  to 
pass  the  time." 

It  was  the  last  sentence  that  caught  Bucky's  at- 
tention. Jim  Malloy  had  not  written  it  except  for 
a  reason.  Wherefore  the  lieutenant  purchased  two 
tickets  for  the  performance  far  back  in  the  house. 
From  the  local  newspaper  he  gathered  that  the 
showman  was  henceforth  to  be  a  resident  of  Epi- 
taph. Mr.  Jay  Hardman,  or  Signer  Raffaello  Cav- 
ellado,  as  he  was  known  the  world  over  by  countless 
thousands  whom  he  had  entertained,  had  purchased 
a  corral  and  livery  stable  at  the  corner  of  Main  and 
Boothill  Streets  and  solicited  the  patronage  of  the 
citizens  of  Hualpai  County.  That  was  the  purport 
of  the  announcement  which  Bucky  ringed  with  a 
pencil  and  handed  to  his  friend. 

That  evening  Signor  Raffaello  Cavellado  made  a 
great  hit  with  his  audience.  He  swaggered  through 
his  act  magnificently,  and  held  his  spectators  breath- 
less. Bucky  took  care  to  see  that  a  post  and  the 
sheriff's  big  body  obscured  him  from  view  during 
the  performance. 

After  it  was  over  O'Connor  and  the  sheriff  re- 
turned to  the  hotel,  where  also  Hardman  was  for 
the  present  staying,  and  sent  word  up  to  his  room 
that  one  of  the  audience  who  had  admired  very  much 

80 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


the  artistic  performance  would  like  the  pleasure  of 
drinking  a  glass  of  wine  with  Signer  Cavellado  if 
the  latter  would  favor  him  with  his  company  in 
room  seven.  The  Signer  was  graciously  pleased 
to  accept,  and  followed  his  message  of  acceptance 
in  person  a  few  minutes  later. 

Bucky  remained  quietly  in  the  corner  of  the  room 
back  of  the  door  until  the  showman  had  entered, 
and  while  the  latter  was  meeting  Collins  he  silently 
locked  the  door  and  pocketed  the  key. 

The  sheriff  acknowledged  Hardman's  condescen- 
sion brusquely  and  without  shaking  hands.  "Glad 
to  meet  you,  seh.  But  you're  mistaken  in  one  thing. 
I'm  not  your  host.  This  gentleman  behind  you  is." 

The  man  turned  and  saw  Bucky,  who  was  stand- 
ing with  his  back  against  the  door,  a  bland  smile 
on  his  face. 

"Yes,  seh.  I'm  your  host  to-night.  Sheriff 
Collins,  hyer,  is  another  guest.  I'm  glad  to  have 
the  pleasure  of  entertaining  you,  Signer  Raffaello 
Cavellado,"  Bucky  assured  him,  in  his  slow,  gentle 
drawl,  without  reassuring  him  at  all. 

For  the  fellow  was  plainly  disconcerted  at  recog- 
nition of  his  host.  He  turned  with  a  show  of  firm- 
ness to  Collins.  "If  you're  a  sheriff,  I  demand  to 
have  that  door  opened  at  once,"  he  blustered. 

Val  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  tipped  back 
his  chair.  "I  ain't  sheriff  of  Hualpai  County.  My 
jurisdiction  don't  extend  here,"  he  said  calmly. 

'Tm  an  unarmed  man,"  pleaded  Cavellado. 
81 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"Come  to  think  of  it,  so  am  I." 

"I  reckon  I'm  holding  all  the  aces,  Signer  Cavel- 
lado,"  explained  the  ranger  affably.  "Or  do  you 
prefer  in  private  life  to  be  addressed  as  Hardman- — . 
or,  say,  Anderson?" 

The  showman  moistened  his  lips  and  offered  his 
tormentor  a  blanched  face. 

"Anderson — a  good  plain  name.  I  wonder,  now, 
why  you  changed  it  ?"  Bucky 's  innocent  eyes  ques- 
tioned him  blandly  as  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
little  box  and  tossed  it  on  the  table.  "Open  that 
box  for  me,  Mr.  Anderson.  Who  knows  ?  It  might 
explain  a  heap  of  things  to  us/' 

With  trembling  fingers  the  big  coward  fumbled  at 
the  string.  With  all  his  fluent  will  he  longed  to  re- 
sist, but  the  compelling  eyes  that  met  his  so  steadily 
were  not  to  be  resisted.  Slowly  he  unwrapped  the 
paper  and  took  the  lid  from  the  little  box,  inside 
of  which  was  coiled  up  a  thin  gold  chain  with  locket 
pendant. 

"Be  seated,"  ordered  Bucky  sternly,  and  after  the 
man  had  found  a  chair  the  ranger  sat  down  oppo- 
site him. 

From  its  holster  he  drew  a  revolver  and  from  a 
pocket  his  watch.  He  laid  them  on  the  table  side 
by  side  and  looked  across  at  the  white-lipped  trem- 
bler whom  he  faced. 

"We  had  better  understand  each  other,  Mr.  An- 
derson. I've  come  here  to  get  from  you  the  story 
of  that  chain,  so  far  as  you  know  it.  If  you  don't 

82 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


care  to  tell  it  I  shall  have  to  mess  this  floor  up  with 
your  remains.  Get  one  proposition  into  your  cocoa- 
nut  right  now.  You  don't  get  out  of  this  room  alive 
with  your  secret.  It's  up  to  you  to  choose." 

Quite  without  dramatics,  as  placidly  as  if  he  were 
discussing  railroad  rebates,  the  ranger  delivered  his 
ultimatum.  It  seemed  plain  that  he  considered  the 
issue  no  responsibility  of  his. 

Anderson  stared  at  him  in  silent  horror,  moisten- 
ing his  dry  lips  with  the  tip  of  his  tongue.  Once 
his  gaze  shifted  to  the  sheriff  but  found  small  com- 
fort there.  Collins  had  picked  up  a  newspaper  and 
was  absorbed  in  it. 

"Are  you  going  to  let  him  kill  me?"  the  man 
asked  him  hoarsely. 

He  looked  up  from  his  newspaper  in  mild  pro- 
test at  such  unreason.  "Me?  I  ain't  sittin'  in  this 
game.  Seems  like  I  mentioned  that  already." 

"Better  not  waste  your  time,  signor,  on  side 
issues,"  advised  the  man  behind  the  gun.  "For  I 
plumb  forgot  to  tell  you  I'm  allowing  only  three 
minutes  to  begin  your  story,  half  of  which  three 
has  already  slipped  away  to  yesterday's  seven  thous- 
and years.  Without  wantin'  to  hurry  you,  I  suggest 
the  wisdom  of  a  prompt  decision." 

"Would  he  do  it  ?"  gasped  the  victim,  with  a  last 
appeal  to  Collins. 

"Would  he  what?  Oh,  shoot  you  up.  Cayn't 
tell  till  I  see.  If  he  says  he  will  he's  liable  to.  He 
always  was  that  haidstrong." 

83 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"But— why— why " 

"Yes,  it's  sure  a  heap  against  the  law,  but  then 
Bucky  ain't  a  lawyer.  I  don't  reckon  he  cares  sour 
grapes  for  the  law — as  law.  It's  a  right  interesting 
guess  as  to  whether  he  will  or  won't." 

"There's  a  heap  of  cases  the  law  don't  reach 
prompt.  This  is  one  of  them,"  contributed  the 
ranger  cheerfully.  He  pocketed  his  watch  and 
picked  up  the  .45.  "Any  last  message  or  anything 
of  that  sort,  signer?  I  don't  want  to  be  unpleasant 
about  this,  you  understand."4 

The  whilom  bad  man's  teeth  chattered.  "I'll  tell 
you  anything  you  want  to  know." 

"Now,  that's  right  sensible.  I  hate  to  come  into 
another  man's  house  and  clutter  it  up.  Reel  off 
your  yarn." 

"I  don't  know — what  you  want." 

"I  want  the  whole  story  of  your  kidnaping  of 
the  Mackenzie  child,  how  came  you  to  do  it,  what 
happened  to  Dave  Henderson,  and  full  directions 
where  I  may  locate  Frances  Mackenzie.  Begin  at 
the  beginning,  and  I'll  fire  questions  at  you  when 
you  don't  make  any  point  clear  to  me.  Turn  loose 
your  yarn  at  me  hot  off  the  bat." 

The  man  told  his  story  sullenly.  While  he  was 
on  the  round-up  as  cook  for  the  riders  he  had  heard 
Mackenzie  and  Henderson  discussing  together  the 
story  of  their  adventure  with  the  dying  Spaniard 
and  their  hopes  of  riches  from  the  mine  he  had  left 
them.  From  that  night  he  had  set  himself  to  dis- 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


cover  the  secret  of  its  location,  had  listened  at  win- 
dows and  at  keyholes,  and  had  once  intercepted  a 
letter  from  one  to  the  other.  By  chance  he  had 
discovered  that  the  baby  was  carrying  the  secret  in 
her  locket,  and  he  had  set  himself  to  get  it  from 
her. 

But  his  chance  did  not  come.  He  could  not  make 
friends  with  her,  and  at  last,  in  despair  of  rinding 
a  better  opportunity,  he  had  slipped  into  her  room 
one  night  in  the  small  hours  to  steal  the  chain.  But 
it  was  wound  round  her  neck  in  such  a  way  that  he 
could  not  slip  it  over  her  head.  She  had  awakened 
while  he  was  fumbling  with  the  clasp  and  had  begun 
to  cry.  Hearing  her  mother  moving  about  in  the 
next  room,  he  had  hastily  carried  the  child  with 
him,  mounted  the  horse  waiting  in  the  yard,  and 
ridden  away. 

In  the  road  he  became  aware,  some  time  later, 
that  he  was  being  pursued.  This  gave  him  a  dread- 
ful fright,  for,  as  Bucky  had  surmised,  he  thought 
his  pursuer  was  Mackenzie.  All  night  he  rode 
southward  wildly,  but  still  his  follower  kept  on  his 
trail  till  near  morning,  when  he  eluded  him.  He 
crossed  the  border,  but  late  that  afternoon  got  an- 
other fright.  For  it  was  plain  he  was  still  being 
followed.  In  the  endless  stretch  of  rolling  hills  he 
twice  caught  sight  of  a  rider  picking  his  way  toward 
him.  The  heart  of  the  guilty  man  was  like  water. 
He  could  not  face  the  outraged  father,  nor  was  it 
possible  to  escape  so  dogged  a  foe  by  flight.  An 

85 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


alternative  suggested  itself,  and  he  accepted  it  with 
sinking  courage.  The  child  was  asleep  in  his  arms 
now,  and  he  hastily  dismounted,  picketed  his  horse, 
and  stole  back  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  so  that  the  neigh- 
ing of  his  bronco  might  not  betray  his  presence. 
Then  he  lay  down  in  a  dense  mesquit  thicket  and 
waited  for  his  foe.  It  seemed  an  eternity  till  the 
man  appeared  at  the  top  of  a  rise  fifty  yards  away. 
Hastily  Anderson  fired,  and  again.  The  man  top- 
pled from  his  horse,  dead  before  he  struck  the 
ground.  But  when  the  cook  reached  him  he  was 
horrified  to  see  that  the  man  he  had  killed  was  a 
member  of  the  Rurales,  or  Mexican  border  police. 
In  his  guilty  terror  he  had  shot  the  wrong  man. 

He  fled  at  once,  pursued  by  a  thousand  fears. 
Late  the  next  night  he  reached  a  Chihuahua  village, 
after  having  been  lost  for  many  hours.  The  child 
he  still  carried  with  him,  simply  because  he  had  not 
the  heart  to  leave  it  to  die  in  the  desert  alone.  A 
few  weeks  later  he  married  an  American  woman  he 
met  in  Sonora.  They  adopted  the  child,  but  it  died 
within  the  year  of  fever. 

Meanwhile,  he  was  horrified  to  learn  that  Dave 
Henderson,  following  hard  on  his  trail,  had  been 
found  bending  over  the  spot  where  the  dead  soldier 
lay,  had  been  arrested  by  a  body  of  Rurales,  tried 
hurriedly,  and  convicted  to  life  imprisonment.  The 
evidence  had  been  purely  circumstantial.  The  bullet 
found  in  the  dead  body  of  the  trooper  was  one  that 
might  have  come  from  his  rifle,  one  barrel  of  which 

86 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


was  empty  and  had  been  recently  fired.  For  the 
rest,  he  was  a  hated  Americano,  and,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  guilty.  His  judges  took  pains  to  see 
that  no  message  from  him  reached  his  friends  in 
the  States  before  he  was  buried  alive  in  the  prison. 
In  that  horrible  hole  an  innocent  man  had  been  con- 
fined for  fifteen  years,  unless  he  had  died  during 
that  time. 

That,  in  substance,  was  the  story  told  by  the 
showman,  and  Bucky's  incisive  questions  were  un- 
able to  shake  any  portion  of  it.  As  to  the  missing 
locket,  the  man  explained  that  it  had  been  broken 
off  by  accident  and  lost.  When  he  discovered  that 
only  half  the  secret  was  contained  on  the  map  sec- 
tion he  had  returned  the  paper  to  the  locket  and 
let  the  child  continue  to  carry  it.  Some  years  after 
the  death  of  the  child,  Frances,  his  wife  had  lost  the 
locket  with  the  map. 

"And  this  chain  and  locket — when  did  you  lose 
them?"  demanded  Bucky  sharply. 

"It  must  have  been  about  two  months  ago,  down 
at  Nogales,  that  I  sold  it  to  a  fellow.  I  was  play- 
ing faro  and  losing.  He  gave  me  five  dollars  for 
it." 

And  to  that  he  stuck  stoutly,  nor  could  he  be 
shaken  from  it.  Both  O'Connor  and  the  sheriff 
believed  he  was  lying,  for  they  were  convinced  that 
he  was  the  bandit  with  the  red  wig  who  had  covered 
the  engineer  while  his  companions  robbed  the  train. 
But  of  this  they  had  no  proof.  Nor  did  Bucky  even 

87 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


mention  his  suspicion  to  Hardman,  for  it  was  his 
intention  to  turn  him  loose  and  have  him  watched. 
Thus,  perhaps,  he  would  be  caught  corresponding  or 
fraternizing  with  some  of  the  other  outlaws.  Col- 
lins left  the  room  before  the  showman,  and  when 
the  latter  came  from  the  hotel  he  followed  him  into 
the  night. 

Meanwhile,  Bucky  went  out  and  tapped  another 
of  his  underground  wires.  This  ran  directly  to  the 
Mexican  consul  at  Tucson,  to  whom  Bucky  had 
once  done  a  favor  of  some  importance,  and  from 
him  to  Sonora  and  Chihuahua.  It  led  to  musty  old 
official  files,  to  records  already  yellowed  with  age, 
to  court  reports  and  prison  registers.  In  the  end 
it  flashed  back  to  Bucky  great  news.  Dave  Hender- 
son, arrested  for  the  murder  of  the  Rurales  police- 
man, was  still  serving  time  in  a  Mexican  prison 
for  another  man's  crime.  There  in  Chihuahua  for 
fifteen  years  he  had  been  lost  to  the  world  in  that 
underground  hole,  blotted  out  from  life  so  effectu- 
ally that  few  now  remembered  there  had  been  such 
a  person.  It  was  horrible,  unthinkable,  but  none  the 
less  true. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

BUCKY    MAKES   A   DISCOVERY. 

For  a  week  Bucky  had  been  in  the  little  border 
town  of  Noches,  called  there  by  threats  of  a  race 
war  between  the  whites  and  the  Mexicans.  Having 
put  the  quietus  on  this,  he  was  returning  to  Epitaph 
by  way  of  the  Huachuca  Mountains.  There  are 
still  places  in  Arizona  where  rapid  transit  can  be 
achieved  more  expeditiously  on  the  back  of  a  bronco 
than  by  means  of  the  railroad,  even  when  the  latter 
is  available.  So  now  Bucky  was  taking  a  short  cut 
across  country  instead  of  making  the  two  train 
changes,  with  the  consequent  inevitable  delays  that 
would  have  been  necessary  to  travel  by  rail. 

He  traveled  at  night  and  in  the  early  morning,  to 
avoid  the  heat  of  the  midday  sun,  and  it  was  in  the 
evening  of  the  second  and  last  day  that  the  skirts 
of  happy  chance  led  him  to  an  adventure  that  was 
to  affect  his  whole  future  life.  He  knew  a  water- 
hole  on  the  Del  Oro,  where  cows  were  wont  to 
frequent  even  in  the  summer  drought,  and  toward 
this  he  was  making  in  the  fag-end  of  the  sultry  day. 
While  still  some  hundred  yards  distant  he  observed 
a  spiral  of  smoke  rising  from  a  camp-fire  at  the 
spring,  and  he  at  once  made  a  more  circumspect  ap- 
proach. For  it  might  be  any  one  of  a  score  of 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


border  ruffians  who  owed  him  a  grudge  and  would 
be  glad  to  pay  it  in  the  silent  desert  that  tells  no 
tales  and  betrays  no  secrets  to  the  inquisitive. 

He  flung  the  bridle-rein  over  his  pony's  neck  and 
crept  forward  on  foot,  warily  and  noiselessly. 
While  still  some  little  way  from  the  water-hole  he 
was  arrested  by  a  sound  that  startled  him.  He  could 
make  out  a  raucous  voice  in  anger  and  a  pianissimo 
accompaniment  of  womanish  sobs. 

"You're  mine  to  do  with  as  I  like.  I'm  your 
uncle.  I've  raised  you  from  a  kid,  and,  by  the  great 
mogul !  you  can't  sneak  off  with  the  first  good-for- 
nothing  scoundrel  that  makes  eyes  at  you.  Thought 
you  had  slipped  away  from  me,  you  white-faced, 
sniveling  ttttle  idiot,  but  I'll  show  you  who  is  mas- 
ter." 

The  lash  of  a  wrhip  rose  and  fell  twice  on  quiver- 
ing flesh  before  Bucky  leaped  into  the  fireglow  and 
wrested  the  riding- whip  from  the  hands  of  the 
angry  man  who  was  plying  it. 

"Dare  to  touch  a  woman,  would  you?"  cried  the 
ranger,  swinging  the  whip  vigorously  across  the 
broad  shoulders  of  the  man.  "Take  that — and  that 
— and  that,  you  brute!" 

But  when  Bucky  had  finished  with  the  fellow  and 
flung  him  a  limp,  writhing  huddle  of  welts  to  the 
ground,  three  surprises  awaited  him.  The  first  was 
that  it  was  not  a  woman  he  had  rescued  at  all,  but 
a  boy,  and,  as  the  flickering  firelight  played  on  his 
face,  the  ranger  came  to  an  unexpected  recogni- 

90 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


tion.  The  slim  lad  facing  him  was  no  other  than 
Frank  Hardman,  whom  he  had  left  a  few  days  be- 
fore at  the  Rocking  Chair  under  the  care  of  moth- 
erly Mrs.  Mackenzie.  The  young  man's  eyes  went 
back  with  instant  suspicion  to  the  fellow  he  had  just 
^  punished,  and  his  suspicions  were  verified  when  the 
leaping  light  revealed  the  face  of  the  showman 
Anderson. 

Bucky  laughed.  "I  ce'tainly  seem  to  be  interfer- 
ing in  your  affairs  a  good  deal,  Mr.  Anderson.  You 
may  take  my  word  for  it  that  you  was  the  last  per- 
son in  the  world  I  expected  to  meet  here,  unless 
it  might  be  this  boy.  I  left  him  safe  at  a  ranch  fifty 
miles  from  here,  and  I  left  you  a  staid  business  man 
of  Epitaph.  But  it  seems  neither  of  you  stayed 
hitched.  Why  for  this  yearning  to  travel?" 

"He  found  me  where  I  was  staying.  I  was  out 
riding  alone  on  an  errand  for  Mrs.  Mackenzie  when 
he  met  me  and  made  me  go  with  him.  He  has  ar- 
ranged to  have  me  meet  his  wife  in  Mexico.  The 
show  wouldn't  draw  well  without  me.  You  know 
I  do  legerdemain,"  Frank  explained,  in  his  low, 
sweet  voice. 

"So  you  had  plans  of  your  own,  Mr.  Anderson. 
Now,  that  was  right  ambitious  of  you.  But  I  reckon 
I'll  have  to  interfere  with  them  again.  Go  through 
him,  kid,  and  relieve  him  of  any  guns  he  happens 
to  be  garnished  with.  Might  as  well  help  yourself 
to  his  knives,  too.  He's  so  fond  of  letting  them  fly 
around  promiscuous  he  might  hurt  himself.  Good. 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


Now  we  can  sit  down  and  have  a  friendly  talk. 
Where  did  you  say  you  was  intending  to  spend  the 
next  few  weeks  before  I  interrupted  so  unthinking 
and  disarranged  your  plans?  I'm  talking  to  you, 
Mr.  Anderson." 

"I  was  heading  for  Sonora,"  the  man  whined. 

What  Bucky  thought  was:  "Right  strange  di- 
rection to  be  taking  for  Sonora.  I'll  bet  my  pile  you 
were  going  up  into  the  hills  to  meet  some  of  Wolf 
Leroy's  gang.  But  why  you  were  taking  the  kid 
along  beats  me,  unless  it  was  just  cussedness." 
What  he  said  was: 

"Oh,  you'll  like  Epitaph  a  heap  better.  I  allow 
you  ought  to  stay  at  that  old  town.  It's  a  real 
interesting  place.  Finished  in  the  adobe  style  and 
that  sort  of  thing.  The  jail's  real  comfy,  too." 

"Would  you  like  something  to  eat,  sir?"  presently 
asked  Frank  timidly. 

"Would  I?  Why,  I'm  hungry  enough  to  eat  a 
leather  mail-sack.  Trot  on  your  grub,  young  man, 
and  watch  my  smoke." 

Bucky  did  ample  justice  to  the  sandwiches  and 
lemonade  the  lad  set  in  front  of  him,  but  he  ate 
with  a  wary  eye  on  a  possible  insurrection  on  the 
part  of  his  prisoner. 

"I'm  a  new  man,"  he  announced  briskly,  when 
he  had  finished.  "That  veal  loaf  sandwich  went 
sure  to  the  right  spot.  If  you  had  been  a  young 
lady  instead  of  a  boy  you  couldn't  fix  things  up 
more  appetizing." 

92 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


The  lad's  face  flushed  with  embarrassment,  ap- 
parently at  the  ranger's  compliment,  and  the  latter 
noticed  how  delicate  the  small  face  was.  It  made 
an  instinctive,  wistful  appeal  for  protection,  and 
Bucky  felt  an  odd  little  stirring  at  his  tender  Irish 
heart. 

"Might  think  I  was  the  kid's  father  to  see  what 
an  interest  I  take  in  him,"  the  young  man  told  him- 
self reprovingly.  "It's  all  tommyrot,  too.  A  boy 
had  .Dught  to  have  more  grit.  I  expect  he  needed 
that  licking  all  right  I  saved  him  from." 

When  Bucky  had  eaten,  the  camp  things  were 
repacked  for  travel.  Epitaph  was  only  twenty-three 
miles  away,  and  the  ranger  preferred  to  ride  in  the 
cool  of  the  night  rather  than  sit  up  till  daybreak 
with  his  prisoner.  Besides,  he  could  then  catch 
the  morning  train  from  that  town  and  save  almost  a 
day. 

So  hour  after  hour  they  plodded  on,  the  prisoner 
in  front,  O'Connor  in  the  center,  and  Frank  Hard- 
man  bringing  up  the  rear.  It  was  an  Arizona  night 
of  countless  stars,  with  that  peculiar  soft,  velvety  at- 
mosphere that  belongs  to  no  other  land  or  time.  In 
the  distance  the  jagged,  violet  line  of  mountains 
fose  in  silhouette  against  a  sky  not  many  shades 
lighter,  while  nearer  the  cool  moonlight  flooded  a 
land  grown  magical  under  its  divine  touch. 

The  ranger  rode  with  a  limp  ease  that  made  for 
rest,  his  body  shifting  now  and  again  in  the  saddle, 
so  as  to  change  the  weight  and  avoid  stiffness. 

93 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


It  must  have  been  well  past  midnight  that  he 
caught  the  long  breath  of  a  sigh  behind  him.  The 
trail  had  broadened  at  that  point,  for  they  were  now 
down  in  the  rolling  plain,  so  that  two  could  ride 
abreast  in  the  road.  Bucky  fell  back  and  put  a  sym- 
pathetic hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  boy. 

"Plumb  fagged  out,  kid?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  tired.     Is  it  far?" 

"About  four  miles.  Stick  it  out,  and  we'll  be 
there  in  no  time." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Don't  call  me  sir.    Call  me  Bucky." 

"Yes,  sir." 

Bucky  laughed.  "You're  ce'tainly  the  queerest 
kid  I've  run  up  against.  I  guess  you  didn't  scramble 
up  in  this  rough-and-tumble  West  like  I  did.  You're 
too  soft  for  this  country."  He  let  his  firm  brown 
fingers  travel  over  the  lad's  curly  hair  and  down  the 
smooth  cheek.  "There  it  is  again.  Shrinking  away 
as  if  I  was  going  to  hurt  you.  I'll  bet  a  biscuit  you 
never  licked  the  stuffing  out  of  another  fellow  in 
your  life." 

"No,  sir,"  murmured  the  youth,  and  Bucky  al- 
most thought  he  detected  a  little,  chuckling  laugh. 

"Well,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  it.  When 
I  come  back  from  old  Mexico  I'm  going  to  teach  you 
how  to  put  up  your  dukes.  You're  going  to  ride 
the  range  with  me,  son,  and  learn  to  stick  to  your 
saddle  when  the  bronc  and  you  disagrees.  Oh,  I'll 
bet  all  you  need  is  training.  I'll  make  a  man  out  of 

94 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


you  yet,"  the  ranger  assured  his  charge  cheerfully. 

"Will  you?"  came  the  innocent  reply,  but  Bucky 
for  a  moment  had  the  sense  of  being  laughed  at. 

"Yes,  I  'will  you/  sissy,"  he  retorted,  without  the 
least  exasperation.  "Don't  think  you  know  it  all. 
Right  now  you're  riding  like  a  wooden  man.  You 
want  to  take  it  easy  in  the  saddle.  There's  about 
a  dozen  different  positions  you  can  take  to  rest  your- 
self." And  Bucky  put  him  through  a  course  of 
sprouts.  "Don't  sit  there  laughing  at  folks  that 
knows  a  heap  more  than  you  ever  will  get  in  your 
noodle,  and  perhaps  you  won't  be  so  done  up  at 
the  end  of  a  little  jaunt  like  this,"  he  concluded. 
And  to  his  conclusion  he  presently  added  a  post- 
script: "Why,  I  know  kids  your  age  can  ride  day 
and  night  for  a  week  on  the  round-up  without  be- 
ing all  in.  How  old  are  you,  son  ?" 

"Eighteen." 

"That's  a  lie,"  retorted  the  ranger,  with  immedi- 
ate frankness.  "You're  not  a  day  over  fifteen,  I'll 
bet." 

"I  meant  to  say  fifteen/'  meekly  corrected  the 
youth. 

"That's  another  of  them.  You  meant  to  say 
eighteen,  but  you  found  I  wouldn't  swallow  it. 
Now,  Master  Frank,  you  want  to  learn  one  thing 
prompt  if  you  and  I  are  to  travel  together.  I 
can't  stand  a  liar.  You  tell  the  truth,  or  I'll  give 
you  the  best  licking  you  ever  had  in  your  life." 

95 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"You're  as  bad  a  bully  as  he  is,"  the  boy  burst 
out,  flushing  angrily. 

"Oh,   no,  I'm  not,"   came  the  ranger's  prompt 
unmoved  answer.     "But  just  because  you're  such  a , 
weak  little  kid  that  I  could  break  you  in  two  isn't' 
any  reason  why  I  should  put  up  with  any  foolish- 
ness from  you.     I  mean  to  see  that  you  act  proper, 
the  way  an  honest  kid  ought  to  do.    Savvy  ?" 

"I'd  like  to  know  who  made  you  my  master?" 
demanded  the  boy  hotly. 

"You've  ce'tainly  been  good  and  spoiled,  but 
you  needn't  ride  your  high  hawss  with  me. 
Here's  the  long  and  the  short  of  it.  To  tell  lies 
ain't  square.  If  I  ask  you  anything  you  don't 
want  to  answer  tell  me  to  go  to  hell,  but  don't  lie 
to  me.  If  you  do  I'll  punish  you  the  same  as  if 
you  were  my  brother,  so  long  as  you  trail  with 
me.  If  you  don't  like  it,  cut  loose  and  hit  the  pike 
for  yourself." 

'I've  a  good  mind  to  go." 

Bucky  waved  a  hand  easily  into  space.  "That's 
all  right,  too,  son.  There's  a  heap  of  directions 
you  can  hit  from  here.  Take  any  one  you  like.  But 
if  I  was  as  beat  as  you  are,  I  think  I'd  keep  on  the 
Epitaph  road."  He  laughed  his  warm,  friendly 
laugh,  before  the  geniality  of  which  discord  seemed 
to  melt,  and  again  his  arm  went  round  the  other's 
weary  shoulders  with  a  caressing  gesture  that  was 
infinitely  protecting. 

The  boy  laughed  tremulously.     "You're  awfully 

96 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


good  to  me.  I  know  I'm  a  cry-baby,  sissy  boy,  but 
if  you'll  be  patient  with  me  I'll  try  to  be  gamer." 

It  certainly  was  strange  the  way  Bucky's  pulse 
quickened  and  his  blood  tingled  when  he  touched 
the  little  fellow  and  heard  that  velvet  voice's  soft 
murmur.  Yes,  it  surely  was  strange,  but  perhaps 
the  young  Irishman's  explanation  was  not  the  cor- 
rect one,  after  all.  The  cause  he  offered  to  him- 
self for  this  odd  joy  and  tender  excitement  was  per- 
fectly simple. 

"I'm  surely  plumb  locoed,  or  else  gone  soft  in 
the  haid,"  he  told  himself  grimly. 

But  the  reason  for  those  queer  little  electric  shocks 
that  pulsed  through  him  was  probably  a  more  ele- 
mental and  primeval  one  than  even  madness. 

Arrived  at  Epitaph,  Bucky  turned  loose  his  pris- 
oner with  a  caution  and  made  his  preparations  to 
leave  immediately  for  Chihuahua.  Collins  had  re^ 
turned  to  Tucson,  but  was  in  touch  with  the  situa- 
tion and  ready  to  set  out  for  any  point  where  he 
was  needed. 

Bucky,  having  packed,  was  confronted  with  a 
difficulty.  He  looked  at  it,  and  voiced  his  perplex- 
ity. 

"Now,  what  am  I  going  to  do  with  you,  Curly 
Haid?  I  expect  I  had  better  ship  you  back  to  the 
Rocking  Chair." 

"I  don't  want  to  go  back  there.  He'll  come  out 
again  and  find  me  after  you  leave." 

"Where  do  you  want  to  go,  then?    If  you  were 

97 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


a  girl  I  could  put  you  in  the  convent  school  here," 
he  reflected  aloud. 

Again  that  swift,  deep  blush  irradiated  the  youth's 
cheeks.  "Why  can't  I  go  with  you  ?"  he  asked  shyly. 

The  ranger  laughed.  "Mebbe  you  think  I'm  go- 
ing on  a  picnic.  Why,  I'm  starting  out  to  knock 
the  chip  off  Old  Man  Trouble's  shoulder.  Like  as 
not  some  greaser  will  collect  Mr.  Bucky's  scalp 
down  in  manana  land.  No,  sir,  this  doesn't  threaten 
to  be  a  Y.  P.  S.  C.  E.  excursion." 

"If  it  is  so  dangerous  as  that,  you  will  need 
help,  I'm  awful  good  at  making  up,  and  I  can 
speak  Spanish  like  a  native." 

"Sho  !  You  don't  want  to  go  running  your  neck 
into  a  noose.  It's  a  jail-break  I'm  planning,  son. 
There  may  be  guns  a-popping  before  we  get  back 
to  God's  country  —  if  we  ever  do.  Add  to  that, 
trouble  and  then  some,  for  there's  a  revolution 
scheduled  for  old  Chihuahua  just  now,  as  your  uncle 
happens  to  know  from  reliable  information." 

"Two  can  always  work  better  than  one.  Try  me, 
Bucky,"  pleaded  the  boy,  the  last  word  slipping  out 
with  a  trailing  upward  inflection  that  was  irresist- 


"Sure  you  won't  faint  if  we  get  in  a  tight  pinch, 
Curly?"  scoffed  O'Connor,  even  though  in  his  mind 
he  was  debating  a  surrender.  For  he  was  extraordi- 
narily taken  with  the  lad,  and  his  judgment  justi- 
fied what  the  boy  had  said. 

"I  shall  not  be  afraid  if  you  are  with  me." 

98 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"But  I  may  not  be  with  you.  That's  the  trouble. 
Supposing  I  should  be  caught,  what  would  you  do  ?" 

"Follow  any  orders  you  had  given  me  before  that 
time.  If  you  had  not  given  any,  I  would  use  my 
best  judgment." 

"I'll  give  them  now,"  smiled  Bucky.  "If  I'm 
lagged>  make  straight  for  Arizona  and  tell  Webb 
Mackenzie  or  Val  Collins." 

"Then  you  will  take  me?"  cried  the  boy  eagerly. 

"Only  on  condition  that  you  obey  orders  explic- 
itly. I'm  running  this  cutting-out  expedition." 

"I  wouldn't  think  of  disobeying." 

"And  I  don't  want  you  to  tell  me  any  lies." 

"No." 

Bucky's  big  brown  fist  caught  the  little  one  and 
squeezed  it.  "Then  it's  a  deal,  kid.  I  only  hope  I'm 
doing  right  to  take  you." 

"Of  course  you  are.  Haven't  you  promised  to 
make  a  man  of  me?"  And  again  Bucky  caught  that 
note  of  stifled  laughter  in  the  voice,  though  the  big 
brown  eyes  met  his  quite  seriously. 

They  took  the  train  that  night  for  El  Paso,  Bucky 
in  the  lower  berth  and  his  friend  in  the  upper  of 
section  six  of  one  of  the  Limited's  Pullman  cars. 
The  ranger  was  awake  and  up  with  the  day.  For 
a  couple  of  hours  he  sat  in  the  smoking  section  and 
discussed  politics  with  a  Chicago  drummer.  He 
knew  that  Frank  was  very  tired,  and  he  let  him 
sleep  till  the  diner  was  taken  on  at  Lordsburg. 
Then  he  excused  himself  to  the  traveling  man. 

99 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"I  reckon  I  better  go  and  wake  up  my  pardner. 
I  see  the  chuck-wagon  is  toddling  along  behind  us." 

Bucky  drew  aside  the  curtains  and  shook  the  boy 
gently  by  the  shoulder.  Frank's  eyes  opened  and 
looked  at  the  ranger  with  that  lack  of  comprehen- 
sion peculiar  to  one  roused  suddenly  from  deep 
sleep. 

"Time  to  get  up,  Curly.  The  nigger  just  gave 
the  first  call  for  the  chuck-wagon." 

An  understanding  of  the  situation  flamed  over 
the  boy's  face.  He  snatched  the  curtains  from  the 
Arizonian  and  gathered  them  tightly  together.  "I'll 
thank  you  not  to  be  so  familiar,"  he  said  shortly 
from  behind  the  closed  curtains. 

"I  beg  your  pahdon,  your  royal  highness.  I 
should  have  had  myself  announced  and  craved  an 
audience,  I  reckon,"  was  Bucky's  ironic  retort;  and 
swiftly  on  the  heels  of  it  he  added.  "You  make 
me  tired,  kid." 

O'Connor  was  destined  to  be  "made  tired"  a 
good  many  times  in  the  course  of  the  next  few  days. 
In  all  the  little  personal  intimacies  Frank  possessed 
a  delicate  fastidiousness  outside  the  experience  of 
the  ranger.  He  was  a  scrupulously  clean  man  him- 
self, and  rather  nice  as  to  his  personal  habits,  but  it 
did  not  throw  him  into  a  flame  of  embarrassment  to 
brush  his  teeth  before  his  fellow  passengers.  Nor 
did  it  send  him  into  a  fit  if  a  friend  happened  to 
drop  into  his  room  while  he  was  finishing  his  dress- 
ing. Bucky  agreed  with  himself  that  this  excess 

100 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


of  shyness  was  foolishness,  and  that  to  indulge  the 
boy  was  merely  to  lay  up  future  trouble  for  him.  A 
dozen  times  he  was  on  the  point  of  speaking  his 
mind  on  the  subject,  but  some  unusual  quality  of 
innocence  in  the  lad  tied  his  tongue. 

"Blame  it  all,  I'm  getting  to  be  a  regular  old 
granny.  What  Master  Frank  needs  is  a  first-class 
dressing-down,  and  here  the  little  cuss  has  got  me 
bluffed  to  a  fare-you-well  so  that  I'm  mum  as  a 
hooter  on  the  nest,"  he  admitted  to  himself  rue- 
fully. "Just  when  something  comes  up  that  needs  a 
good  round  damn  I  catch  that  big  brown  Sunday- 
school  eye  of  his,  and  it's  Bucky  back  to  Webster's 
unabridged.  I've  got  to  quit  trailing  with  him,  or 
I'll  be  joining  the  church  first  thing  I  know.  He 
makes  me  feel  like  I  want  to  be  good,  confound  the 
little  swindle." 

Notwithstanding  the  ranger's  occasional  moments 
of  exasperation,  the  two  got  along  swimmingly. 
Each  of  them  found  a  continued  pleasure  in  delving 
into  the  other's  unexplored  mental  recesses.  They 
drifted  into  one  of  those  quick,  spontaneous  likings 
that  are  rare  between  man  and  man.  Some  subtle 
quality  of  affection  bubbled  up  like  a  spring  in  the 
hearts  of  each  for  the  other.  Young  Hardman 
could  perhaps  have  explained  what  lay  at  the  roots 
of  it,  but  O'Connor  admitted  that  he  was  "buf- 
faloed" when  he  attempted  an  analysis  of  his  un- 
usual feeling. 

From  El  Paso  a  leisurely  run  on  the  Mexican 
101 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


Central  Pacific  took  them  to  Chihuahua,  a  quaint 
old  city  something  about  the  size  of  El  Paso.  Both 
Bucky  and  his  friend  were  familiar  with  the  man- 
ners of  the  country,  so  that  they  felt  at  home  among 
the  narrow  adobe  streets,  the  lounging,  good-na- 
tured peons,  and  the  imitation  Moorish  architecture. 
They  found  rooms  at  a  quiet,  inconspicuous  hotel, 
and  began  making  their  plans  for  an  immediate  de- 
parture in  the  event  that  they  succeeded  in  their  ob- 
ject. 

At  a  distance  it  had  seemed  an  easy  thing  to  plan 
the  escape  of  David  Henderson  and  to  accomplish  it 
by  craft,  but  a  sight  of  the  heavy  stone  walls  that 
encircled  the  prison  and  of  the  numerous  armed 
guards  who  paced  to  and  fro  on  the  walls,  put  a 
more  chilling  aspect  on  their  chances. 

"It  isn't  a  very  gay  outlook,"  Bucky  admitted 
cheerfully  to  his  companion,  "but  I  expect  we  can 
pull  it  off  somehow.  If  these  Mexican  officials 
weren't  slower  than  molasses  in  January  it  might 
have  been  better  to  wait  and  have  him  released  by 
process  of  law  on  account  of  Hardman's  confession. 
But  it  would  take  them  two  or  three  years  to  come 
to  a  decision.  They  sure  do  hate  to  turn  loose  a 
gringo  when  they  have  got  the  hog-tie  on  him.  Like 
as  not  they  would  decide  against  him  at  the  last, 
then.  Course  I've  got  the  law  machinery  grinding, 
too,  but  I'm  not  banking  on  it  real  heavy.  We'll 
get  him  out  first  any  old  way,  then  get  the  govern- 
ment to  O.  K.  the  thing." 

I O2 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"How  were  you  thinking  of  proceeding?" 

"I  expect  it's  time  to  let  you  in  on  the  ground 
floor,  son.  I  reckon  you  happen  to  know  that  down 
in  these  Spanish  countries  there's  usually  a  revolu- 
tion hatching.  There's  two  parties  among  the  aris- 
tocrats, those  for  the  government  and  those  ferninst. 
The  'ins'  stand  pat,  but  the  'outs'  have  always  got  a 
revolution  up  their  sleeves.  Now,  there's  mostly  a 
white  man  mixed  up  in  the  affair.  They  have  to 
have  him  to  run  it  and  to  shoot  afterward  when  the 
government  wins.  You  see,  somebody  has  to  be 
shot,  and  it's  always  so  much  to  the  good  if  they 
can  line  up  gringoes  instead  of  natives.  Nine  times 
out  of  ten  it's  an  Irish-American  lad  that  is  engi- 
neering the  scheme.  This  time  it  happens  to  be 
Mickey  O'Halloran,  an  old  friend  of  mine.  I'm 
going  to  put  it  up  to  Mick  to  find  a  way." 

"But  it  isn't  any  affair  of  his.  He  won't  do  it, 
will  he?" 

"Oh,  I  thought  I  told  you  he  was  Irish." 

"Well?" 

"And  spoiling  for  trouble,  of  course.  Is  it  likely 
he  could  keep  his  fist  out  of  the  hive  when  there's 
such  a  gem  of  a  chance  to  get  stung?" 

It  had  been  Frank's  suggestion  that  they  choose 
rooms  at  a  hotel  which  open  into  each  other  and  also 
connect  with  an  adjoining  pair.  The  reason  for 
this  had  not  at  first  been  apparent  to  the  ranger, 
but  as  soon  as  they  were  alone  Frank  explained. 

"It  i's  very  likely  that  we  shall  be  under  surveil- 
103 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


lance  after  a  day  or  two,  especially  if  we  are  seen 

around  the  prison  a  good  deal.    Well,  we'll  slip  out 

the  back  way  to-night,  disguised  in  some  other  rig, 

(  come  boldly  in  by  the  front  door,  and  rent  the  rooms 

,  next  ours.     Then  we  shall  be  able  to  go  and  come, 

either  as  ourselves  or  as  our  neighbors.    It  will  give 

us  a  great  deal  more  liberty." 

"Unless  we  should  get  caught.  Then  we  would 
have  a  great  deal  less.  What's  your  notion  of  a 
rig-up  to  disguise  us,  kid?" 

"We  might  have  several,  in  case  of  emergencies. 
For  one  thing,  we  could  easily  be  street  showmen. 
You  can  do  fancy  shooting  and  I  can  do  sleight-of- 
hand  tricks  or  tell  fortunes." 

"You  would  be  a  gipsy  lad?" 

The  youngster  blushed.  "A  gipsy  girl,  and  you 
might  be  my  husband." 

"I'm  no  play  actor,  even  if  you  are,"  said  Bucky. 
"I  don't  want  to  be  your  husband,  thank  you." 

"All  you  would  have  to  do  is  to  be  sullen  and 
rough.  It  is  easy  enough." 

"And  you  think  you  could  pass  for  a  girl? 
You're  slim  and  soft  enough,  but  I'll  bet  you  would 
give  it  away  inside  of  an  hour." 

The  boy  laughed,  and  shot  a  swift  glance  at 
O'Connor  under  his  long  lashes.  "I  appeared  as  a 
girl  in  one  of  the  acts  of  the  show  for  years.  No- 
body ever  suspected  that  I  wasn't." 

"We  might  try  it,  but  we  have  no  clothes  for 
the  part." 

104 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"Leave  that  to  me.  I'll  buy  some  to-day  while 
you  are  looking  the  ground  over  for  our  first  assault 
on  the  impregnable  fortress." 

"I  don't  know.  It  seems  to  me  pretty  risky.  But 
you  might  buy  the  things,  and  we'll  see  how  you 
look  in  them.  Better  not  get  all  the  things  at  the 
same  store.  Sort  of  scatter  your  purchases  around." 

They  separated  at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  Frank 
to  choose  the  materials  he  needed,  and  O'Connor 
to  look  up  O'Halloran  and  get  a  permit  to  visit  the 
prison  from  the  proper  authorities.  When  the  lat- 
ter returned  triumphantly  with  his  permit  he  found 
the  boy  busy  with  a  needle  and  thread  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  litter  of  dress-making  material. 

"I'm  altering  this  to  fit  me  and  fixing  it  up,"  he 
explained. 

"Holy  smoke!  Who  taught  you  to  sew?"  asked 
Bucky,  in  surprise. 

"My  aunt,  Mrs.  Hardman.  I  used  to  do  all  the 
plain  sewing  on  my  costumes.  Did  you  see  your 
friend  and  get  your  permit  ?" 

"You  bet  I  did,  and  didn't.  Mickey  was  out,  but 
I  left  him  a  note.  The  other  thing  I  pulled  off  all 
right.  I'm  to  be  allowed  to  visit  the  prison  and 
make  a  careful  inspection  of  it  at  my  leisure. 
There's  nothing  like  a  pull,  son." 

"Does  the  permit  say  you  are  to  be  allowed  to 
steal  any  one  of  the  prisoners  you  take  a  fancy  to?" 
asked  Frank,  with  a  smile. 

105 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"No,  it  forgot  to  say  that.  When  do  you  expect 
to  have  that  toggery  made?" 

"A  good  deal  of  it  is  already  made,  as  you  see. 
I'm  just  making  a  few  changes.  Do  you  want  to 
try  on  your  suit?" 

"Is  this  mine  ?"  asked  the  ranger,  picking  up  with 
smiling  contempt  the  rather  gaudy  blouse  that  lay 
on  a  chair. 

"Yes,  sir,  that  is  yours.  Go  and  put  it  on  and 
we'll  see  how  it  fits." 

Bucky  returned  a  few  minutes  later  in  his  gipsy 
uniform,  with  a  deprecating  grin. 

"I'll  have  to  stain  your  face.  Then  you'll  do 
very  well,"  said  Frank,  patting  and  pulling  at  the 
clothes  here  and  there.  "It's  a  good  fit,  if  I  do 
say  it  that  chose  it.  The  first  thing  you  want  to  do 
when  you  get  out  in  it  is  to  roll  in  the  dust  and 
get  it  soiled.  No  respectable  gipsy  wears  new 
clothes.  Better  have  a  tear  or  two  in  it,  too." 

"You  ce'tainly  should  have  been  a  girl,  the  way 
you  take  to  clothes,  Curly." 

"Making  up  was  my  business  for  a  good  many 
years,  you  know,"  returned  the  lad  quietly.  "If 
you'll  step  into  the  other  room  for  about  fifteen  min- 
utes I'll  show  you  how  well  I  can  do  it." 

It  was  a  long  half-hour  later  that  Bucky  thumped 
on  the  door  between  the  rooms.  "Pretty  nearly 
ready,  kid?  Seems  to  me  it  is  taking  you  a  thun- 
dering long  time  to  get  that  outfit  on." 

106 


WAS  THIS  VIVID,  DAZZLING  CREATURE  THE  BOY  ? 


Page  107. 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"How  long  do  you  think  it  ought  to  take  a  lady 
to  dress?" 

"Ten  minutes  is  long  enough,  and  fifteen,  say, 
if  she  is  going  to  a  dance.  You've  been  thirty-five 
by  my  Waterbury." 

"It's  plain  you  never  were  married,  Mr.  Inno- 
cent. Why,  a  girl  can't  fix  her  hair  in  less  than 
half  an  hour." 

"Well,  you  got  a  wig  there,  ain't  you  ?  It  doesn't 
take  but  about  five  seconds  to  stick  that  on.  Hurry 
up,  amigo!  I'm  clean  through  this  old  newspaper." 

"Read  the  advertisements,"  came  saucily  through 
the  door. 

"I've  read  the  durned  things  twice." 

"Learn  them  by  heart,"  the  sweet  voice  advised. 

"Oh,  you  go  to  Halifax!" 

Nevertheless,  Mr.  Bucky  had  to  wait  his  com- 
rade's pleasure.  But  when  he  got  a  vision  of  the 
result,  it  was  so  little  what  he  had  expected  that  it 
left  him  staring  in  amazement,  his  jaw  fallen  and 
his  eyes  incredulous. 

The  vision  swept  him  a  low  bow.  "How  do  you 
like  Bonita?"  it  demanded  gaily. 

Bucky's  eyes  circled  the  room,  to  make  sure  that 
the  boy  was  not  hidden  somewhere,  and  came  back 
to  rest  on  his  surprise  with  a  look  that  was  almost 
consternation.  Was  this  vivid,  dazzling  creature 
the  boy  he  had  been  patronizing,  lecturing,  promis- 
ing to  thrash  any  time  during  the  past  four  days? 
The  thing  was  unbelievable,  not  yet  to  be  credited 

107 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


by  his  jarred  brain.  How  incredibly  blind  he  had 
been!  What  an  idiot  of  sorts!  Why,  the  marks 
of  sex  sat  on  her  beyond  any  possibility  of  doubt. 
Every  line  of  the  slim,  lissom  figure,  every  curve 
of  the  soft,  undulating  body,  the  sweep  of  rounded 
arm,  of  tapering  waist-line,  of  well-turned  ankle, 
contributed  evidence  of  what  it  were  folly  to  ask 
further  proof.  How  could  he  have  ever  seen  those 
lovely,  soft-lashed  eyes  and  the  delicate  little  hands 
without  conviction  coming  home  to  him  ?  And  how 
could  he  have  heard  the  low  murmur  of  her  voice/ 
the  catch  of  her  sobs,  without  knowing  that  they 
were  a  denial  of  masculinity? 

She  was  dressed  like  a  Spanish  dancing  girl,  in 
short  kilts,  red  sash,  and  jaunty  little  cap  placed 
sidewise  on  her  head.  She  wore  a  wig  of  black 
hair,  and  her  face  was  stained  to  a  dusky,  gipsy 
hue.  Over  her  thumb  hung  castanets  and  in  her 
hand  was  a  tambourine.  Roguishly  she  began  to 
sway  into  a  slow,  rhythmic  dance,  beating  time  with 
her  instruments  as  she  moved.  Gradually  the  speed 
quickened  to  a  faster  time.  She  swung  gracefully 
to  and  fro  with  all  the  lithe  agility  of  the  race  she 
personified.  No  part  could  have  been  better  con- 
ceived or  executed.  Even  physically  she  displayed 
the  large,  brilliant  eyes,  the  ringleted,  coal-black 
hair,  the  tawny  skin,  and  the  flashing  smile  that 
showed  small  teeth  of  dazzling  ivory,  characteristic 
of  the  Romanies  he  had  met.  It  was  a  daring  part 
to  play,  but  the  young  man  watching  realized  that 

108 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


she  had  the  free  grace  to  carry  it  out  successfully. 
She  danced  the  fandango  to  a  finish,  swept  him  an- 
other low  bow,  and  presented  laughingly  to  him  the 
tambourine  for  his  donation.  Then,  suddenly  fling- 
ing aside  the  instrument,  she  curtsied  and  caught  at 
his  hand. 

"Will  the  senor  have  his  fortune  told?" 
Bucky  drew  a  handful  of  change  from  his  pocket 
and  selected  a  gold  eagle.  "I  suppose  I  must  cross 
your  palm  with  gold,"  he  said,  even  while  his  sub- 
conscious mind  was  running  on  the  new  complica- 
tion presented  to  him  by  this  discovery. 

He  was  very  clear  about  one  thing.  He  must 
not  let  her  know  that  he  knew  her  for  a  girl.  To 
him  she  must  still  be  a  boy,  or  their  relation  would 
become  impossible.  She  had  trusted  in  her  power 
to  keep  her  secret  from  him.  On  no  other  terms 
would  she  have  come  with  him;  of  so  much  he 
was  sure,  even  while  his  mind  groped  for  a  suffi- 
cient reason  to  account  for  an  impulse  that  might 
have  impelled  her.  If  she  found  out  that  he  knew, 
the  knowledge  would  certainly  drive  her  at  once 
from  him.  For  he  knew  that  not  the  least  charm 
of  the  extraordinary  fascination  she  had  for  him 
lay  in  her  sweet  innocence  of  heart,  a  fresh  inno- 
cence that  consisted  with  this  gay  Romany  abandon, 
and  even  with  a  mental  experience  of  the  sordid, 
seamy  side  of  life  as  comprehensive  as  that  of 
many  a  woman  twice  her  age.  She  had  been 
defrauded  out  of  her  childish  inheritance  of  inno- 

109 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


cence,  but,  somehow,  even  in  her  foul  environment 
the  seeds  of  a  rare  personal  purity  had  persistently 
sprung  up  and  flourished.  Some  flowers  are  of 
such  native  freshness  that  no  nauseous  surround- 
ings can  kill  their  fragrance.  And  this  was  one 
of  them. 

Meanwhile,  her  voice  ran  on  with  the  patter  of 
her  craft.  There  was  the  usual  dark  woman  to  be 
circumvented  and  the  light  one  to  be  rewarded. 
Jealousies  and  rivalries  played  their  part  in  the  non- 
sense she  glibly  recited,  and  somewhere  in  the  fu- 
ture lay,  of  course,  great  riches  and  happiness  for 
him. 

With  a  queer  little  tug  at  his  heart  he  watched 
the  dainty  finger  that  ran  so  lightly  over  his  open 
palm,  watched,  too,  the  bent  head  so  gracefully 
fine  of  outline  and  the  face  so  mobile  of  expres- 
sion when  the  deep  eyes  lifted  to  his  in  question  of 
the  correctness  of  her  reading.  He  would  miss  the 
little  partner  that  had  wound  himself  so  tightly 
round  his  heart.  He  wondered  if  he  would  find 
compensating  joy  in  this  exquisite  creature  whom 
a  few  moments  had  taken  worlds  distant  from  him. 

Suddenly  tiring  of  her  diversion,  she  dropped 
his  hand.  "You  don't  say  I  do  it  well,"  she  charged, 
aware  suspiciously,  at  last,  of  his  grave  silence. 

"You  do  it  very  well  indeed.  I  didn't  think  you 
had  it  in  you,  kid.  What's  worrying  me  is  that  I 
can  never  live  up  to  such  a  sure  enough  gipsy  as 
you." 

no 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"All  you  have  to  do  is  to  look  sour  and  frown 
if  anybody  gets  too  familiar  with  me.  You  can  do 
that,  can't  you?" 

"You  bet  I  can,"  he  answered  promptly,  with  un- 
necessary emphasis. 

"And  look  handsome,"  she  teased. 

"Oh,  that  will  be  easy  for  me — since  you  are. 
going  to  make  me  up.  As  a  simple  child  of  na- 
ture I'm  no  ornament  to  the  scenery,  but  art's  a 
heap  improving  sometimes." 

She  thought,  but  did  not  say,  that  art  would  go 
a  long  way  before  it  could  show  anything  more 
pleasing  than  this  rider  of  the  plains.  It  was  not 
alone  his  face,  with  the  likable  blue  eyes  that  could 
say  so  many  things  in  a  minute,  but  the  gallant 
ease  of  his  bearing.  Such  a  springy  lightness,  such 
sinewy  grace  of  undulating  muscle,  were  rare  even 
on  the  frontier.  She  had  once  heard  Webb  Macken- 
zie say  of  him  that  he  could  whip  his  weight  in  wild- 
cats, and  it  was  easy  of  belief  after  seeing  how 
surely  he  was  master  of  the  dynamic  power  in  him. 
It  is  the  emergency  that  sifts  men,  and  she  had 
seen  him  rise  to  several  with  a  readiness  that  showed 
the  stuff  in  him. 

That  evening  they  slipped  out  unobserved  in  the 
dusk,  and  a  few  minutes  later  a  young  gipsy  and 
his  bride  presented  themselves  at  the  inn  to  be  put 
up.  The  scowling  young  Romany  was  particular, 
considering  that  he  spent  most  nights  in  the  open, 
with  a  sky  for  a  roof.  So  the  master  of  the  inn 

ill 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


thought  when  he  rejected  on  one  pretense  or  an- 
other the  first  two  rooms  that  were  shown  him.  He 
wanted  two  rooms,  and  they  must  connect.  Had 
the  innkeeper  such  apartments  ?  The  innkeeper  had, 
but  he  would  very  much  like  to  see  the  price  in  ad- 
vance if  he  was  going  to  turn  over  to  guests  of  such 
light  baggage  the  best  accommodations  in  the  house. 
This  being  satisfactorily  arranged,  the  young  gip- 
sies were  left  to  themselves  in  the  room  they  had 
rented. 

The  first  thing  that  the  man  did  when  they  were 
alone  was  to  roll  a  cigarette,  which  operation  he 
finished  deftly  with  one  hand,  while  the  other  swept 
a  match  in  a  circular  motion  along  his  trousers  leg. 
In  very  fair  English  the  Spanish  gipsy  said :  "You 
ce'tainly  ought  to  learn  to  smoke,  kid.  Honest,  it's 
more  comfort  than  a  wife." 

"How  do  you  know,  since  you  are  not  married  ?" 
she  asked  archly. 

"I  been  noticing  some  of  my  poor  unfortunate 
friends,"  he  grinned. 


112 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IN    THE   LAND    OF    REVOLUTIONS. 

The  knock  that  sounded  on  the  door  was  neither 
gentle  nor  apologetic.  It  sounded  as  if  somebody 
had  flung  a  baseball  bat  at  it. 

O'Connor  smiled,  remembering  that  soft  tap  of 

yore.  "I  reckon "  he  was  beginning,  when  the 

door  opened  to  admit  a  visitor. 

This  proved  to  be  a  huge,  red-haired  Irishman, 
with  a  face  that  served  just  now  merely  as  a  set- 
ting for  an  irresistible  smile.  The  owner  of  the 
flaming  head  looked  round  in  surprise  on  the  pair 
of  Romanies  and  began  an  immediate  apology  to 
which  a  sudden  blush  served  as  accompaniment. 

"Beg  pardon.  I  didn't  know The  domned 

dago  told  me "  He  stopped  in  confusion,  with 

a  scrape  and  a  bow  to  the  lady. 

"Sir,  I  demand  an  explanation  of  this  most  un- 
warrantable intrusion,"  spoke  the  ranger  haughtily, 
in  his  best  Spanish. 

A  patter  of  soft  foreign  vowels  flowed  from  the 
stranger's  embarrassment. 

"You  durned  old  hawss-stealing  greaser,  cayn't 
you  talk  English?"  drawled  the  gipsy,  with  a  grin. 

The  other's  mouth  fell  open  with  astonishment. 
He  stared  at  the  slim,  dusky  young  Spaniard  for 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


an  instant  before  he  fell  upon  him  and  began  to 
pound  his  body  with  jovial  fists. 

"You  would,  would  you,  you  old  pie-eating-  fraud ! 
Try  to  fool  your  Uncle  Mick  and  make  him  think 
you  a  greaser,  would  you?  I'll  learn  yez  to  play 
horse  with  a  full-grown,  able-bodied  white  man." 
He  punctuated  his  points  with  short-arm  jolts  that 
Bucky  laughingly  parried. 

"Before  ladies,  Mick!  Haven't  you  forgot  your 
manners,  Red-haid?" 

Swiftly  Mr.  O'Halloran  came  to  flushed  rigidity. 
"Madam,  I  must  still  be  apologizing.  The  surprise 
of  meeting  me  friend  went  to  me  head,  I  shouldn't 
wonder." 

Bucky  doubled  up  with  apparent  mirth.  "Get 
into  the  other  room,  Curly,  and  get  your  other  togs 
on,"  he  ordered.  "Can't  you  see  that  Mick  is  go- 
ing to  fall  in  love  with  you  if  he  sees  you  a  minute 
longer,  you  young  rascal?  Hike!" 

"Don't  you  talk  that  way  to  a  lady,  Bucky," 
warned  O'Halloran,  again  blushing  vividly,  after 
she  had  disappeared  into  the  next  room.  "And  I 
want  to  let  yez  have  it  right  off  the  bat  that  if 
you've  been  leading  that  little  Mexican  senorita  into 
trouble  you've  got  a  quarrel  on  with  Mike  O'Hal- 
loran." 

"Keep  your  shirt  on,  old  fire-eater.  Who  told 
you  I  was  wronging  her  any?" 

"Are  you  married  to  her?" 

"You  bet  I  ain't.  You  see,  Mick,  that  handsome 
114 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


lady  you're  going  to  lick  the  stuffing  out  of  me 
about  is  only  a  plumb  ornery  sassy  young  boy,  after 
all." 

"No!"  denied  Mick,  his  eyes  two  excited  inter- 
rogation-points. "You  can't  stuff  me  with  any  such 
fairy-tale,  me  lad." 

"All  right.  Wait  and  see,"  suggested  the  ranger 
easily.  "Have  a  smoke  while  you're  falling  out  of 
love." 

"You  young  limb,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  all  about 
it  this  ver-ry  minute,  before  I  punch  holes  in  yez." 

Bucky  lit  his  cigar,  leaned  back,  and  began  to 
tell  the  story  of  Frank  Hardman  and  the  knife- 
thrower.  Only  one  thing  he  omitted  to  tell,  and 
that  was  the  conviction  that  had  come  home  to  him 
a  few  moments  ago  that  his  little  comrade  was  no 
boy,  but  a  woman.  O'Halloran  was  a  chivalrous 
Irishman,  a  daredevil  of  an  adventurer,  with  a  pure 
love  of  freedom  that  might  very  likely  in  the  end 
bring  him  to  face  a  row  of  loaded  carbines  with  his 
back  to  a  wall,  but  Bucky  had  his  reticencies  that 
even  loyal  friendship  could  not  break  down.  This 
girl's  secret  he  meant  to  guard  until  such  time  as  she 
chose  of  her  own  free  will  to  tell  it. 

Frank  returned  just  as  he  finished  the  tale  of  the 
knife  episode,  and  Mick's  frank  open  eyes  accused 
him  of  idiocy  for  ever  having  supposed  that  this  lad 
was  a  woman.  Why,  he  was  a  little  fellow  not  over 
fifteen — not  a  day  past  fifteen,  he  would  swear  to 
that.  He  was,  to  be  sure,  a  slender,  girlish  young 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


fellow,  a  good  deal  of  a  sissy  by  the  look  of  him, 
but  none  the  less  a  sure  enough  boy.  Convinced 
of  this,  the  big  Irishman  dismissed  him  promptly 
from  his  thoughts  and  devoted  himself  to  Bucky. 

"And  what  are  yez  doing  down  in  greaser  land  ? 
Thought  you  was  rustling  cows  for  a  living  some- 
wheres  in  sunburnt  Arizona,"  he  grinned  amiably. 

"Me  ?  Oh,  I  came  down  on  business.  We'll  talk 
about  that  presently.  How's  your  one-hawss  revo- 
lution getting  along,  Reddy  ?  I  hope  it's  right  peart 
and  healthy." 

O'Halloran's  eyes  flashed  a  warning,  with  the 
slightest  nod  in  the  world  toward  the  boy. 

"Don't  worry  about  him.  He's  straight  as  a 
string  and  knows  how  to  keep  his  mouth  shut.  You 
can  tell  him  anything  you  would  me."  He  turned 
to  the  boy  sitting  quietly  in  an  inconspicuous  cor- 
ner. "Mum's  the  word,  Frank.  You  understand 
that,  of  course?" 

The  boy  nodded.  "I'll  go  into  the  next  room,  if 
you  like." 

"It  isn't  necessary.     Fire  ahead,  Mike." 

The  latter  got  up,  tiptoed  to  each  door  in  turn, 
flung  it  suddenly  open  to  see  that  nobody  was  spy- 
ing behind  it,  and  then  turned  the  lock.  "I  have  use 
for  me  head  for  another  year  or  two,  and  it's  just 
as  well  to  see  that  nobody  is  spying.  You  under- 
stand, Bucky,  that  I'm  risking  me  life  in  telling  you 
what  I'm  going  to.  If  you  have  any  doubts  about 

116 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


this  lad "  He  stopped,  keen  eyes  fixed  on 

Frank. 

"He's  as  safe  as  I  am,  Mike.  Is  it  likely  I  would 
take  any  risks  about  a  thing  of  that  sort  with  my 
old  bunkie's  tough  neck  inviting  the  hangman?" 
asked  O'Connor  quietly. 

"Good  enough.  The  kid  looks  stanch,  and,  any- 
how, if  you  guarantee  him  that's  enough  for  me." 
He  accepted  another  of  the  ranger's  cigars,  puffed 
it  to  a  red  glow,  and  leaned  back  to  smile  at  his 
friend.  "Glory,  but  it's  good  to  see  ye,  Bucky, 
me  bye.  You'll  never  know  how  a  man's  eyes  ache 
to  see  a  straight-up  white  man  in  this  land  of 
greasers.  It's  the  God's  truth  I'm  telling  ye  when 
I  say  that  I  haven't  had  a  scrimmage  with  me  hands 
since  I  came  here.  The  only  idea  this  forsaken 
country  has  of  exchanging  compliments  is  with  a 
knife  in  the  dark."  He  shook  his  flaming  head 
regretfully  at  the  deplorably  lost  condition  of  a 
country  where  the  shillalah  was  unknown  as  a  social 
institution. 

"If  I  wasn't  tied  up  with  this  Valdez  bunch  I'd 
get  out  to-morrow,  and  sometimes  I  have  half  a 
mind  to  pull  out  anyhow.  If  you've  never  been  as- 
sociated, me  lad,  with  half  a  dozen  most  divilishly 
polite  sefiors,  each  one  of  them  watching  the  others 
out  of  the  corner  of  his  slant  eyes  for  fear  they 
are  going  to  betray  him  or  assassinate  him  first, 
you'll  never  know  the  joys  of  life  in  this  peaceful 
and  continted  land  of  indolence.  Life's  loaded  to 

117 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


the  guards  with  uncertainties,  so  eat,  drink,  and 
be  merry,  for  to-morrow  you  hang,  or  your  friend 
will  carve  ye  in  the  back  with  a  knife,  me  ould 
priest  used  to  say,  or  something  like  it.  'Tis  certain 
he  must  have  had  in  mind  the  Spanish-American, 
my  son/' 

"Which  is  why  you're  here,  you  old  fraud," 
smiled  Bucky.  "You've  got  to  grumble,  of  course, 
but  you  couldn't  be  dragged  away  while  there's  a 
chance  of  a  row.  Don't  I  know  you  of  old,  Red- 
dy?" 

"Anyway,  here  I  am,  with  me  neck  so  near  to  the 
rope  it  fairly  aches  sometimes.  If  you  have  any 
inclinations  toward  suicide,  I'll  be  glad  to  introduce 
ye  to  me  revolutionary  friends." 

"Thank  you,  no.  The  fact  is  that  we  have  a  lit- 
tle private  war  of  our  own  on  hand,  Mike.  I  was 
thinking  maybe  you'd  like  to  enlist,  old  filibuster." 

"Is  the  pay  good?" 

"Nothing  a  day  and  find  yourself,"  answered 
Bucky  promptly. 

"No  reasonable  man  could  ask  fairer  than  that," 
agreed  O'Halloran,  his  grin  expanding.  "Well, 
then,  what's  the  row  ?  Would  ye  like  to  be  dictator 
of  Chihuahua  or  Emperor  of  Mexico?" 

"There's  an  American  in  the  government  prison 
here  under  a  life  sentence.  He  is  not  guilty,  and  he 
has  already  served  fifteen  years." 

"He  is  like  to  serve  fifteen  more,  if  he  lives 
that  long." 

118 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"Wrong  guess.    I  mean  to  get  him  out/' 

"And  I'm  meaning  to  go  to  Paradise  some  day, 
but  will  I  ?" 

"You're  going  to  help  me  get  him  out,  Mike." 

"Who  told  ye  that,  me  optimistic  young  friend?" 

"I  didn't  need  to  be  told." 

"Well,  I'll  not  lift  a  finger,  Bucky— not  a  fin- 
ger." 

"I  knew  you  wouldn't  stand  to  see  a  man  like 
Henderson  rot  in  a  dungeon.  No  Irishman  would." 

"You  needn't  blarney  me.  I'm  too  old  a  bird 
to  be  caught  with  chaff.  It's  a  dirty  shame,  of 
course,  about  this  man  Henderson,  but  I'm  not  run- 
ning the  criminal  jurisprudence  of  Mexico  meself." 

"And  I  said  to  Webb  Mackenzie :  'Mickey  O'Hal- 
loran  is  the  man  to  see ;  he'll  know  the  best  way  to 
do  it  as  nobody  else  would.'  I  knew  I  could  depend 
on  you." 

"You've  certainly  kissed  the  blarney  stone,  Mr. 
O'Connor,"  returned  the  revolutionist  dryly.  "Well, 
then,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?" 

"Nothing  much.  Get  Henderson  out  and  help  us 
to  get  safely  from  the  country  whose  reputation 
you  black-eye  so  cheerfully." 

"Mercy  of  Hiven!  Bring  me  the  moon  and  a 
handful  of  stars,  says  he,  as  cool  as  you  please." 

The  ranger  told  the  story  of  Henderson  and 
Mackenzie's  lost  child  in  such  a  way  that  it  lost 
nothing  in  the  telling. 


119 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


O'Halloran  was  moved.  "  Tis  a  domned  shame 
about  this  man  Henderson,"  he  blurted  out. 

Bucky  leaned  back  comfortably  and  waved  airily 
his  brown  hand.  "It's  up  to  you,"  his  gay,  impu- 
dent eyes  seemed  to  say. 

"I  don't  say  I  won't  be  able  to  help  you,"  con- 
ceded O'Halloran.  "It  happens,  me  bye,  that  you've 
dropped  in  on  me  just  before  the  band  begins  to 
play."  He  lowered  his  voice  almost  to  a  whisper. 
"There's  a  shipment  of  pianos  being  brought  down 
the  line  this  week.  The  night  after  they  arrive  I'm 
looking  for  music." 

"I  see.  The  piano  boxes  are  filled  with  rifles  and 
ammunition." 

"You  have  a  mind  like  a  tack,  Bucky.  Rifles 
is  the  alias  of  them  pianos.  They'll  make  merry 
music  once  we  get  them  through." 

"That's  all  very  well,  but  have  you  reckoned  with 
the  government  at  Mexico?  Chihuahua  isn't  the 
whole  country,  Mickey.  Suppose  President  Diaz 
takes  a  hand  in  the  game  and  sends  troops  in  on 
you?" 

"He  won't,"  answered  the  other,  with  a  wink. 
"He's  been  seen.  The  president  isn't  any  too 
friendly  to  that  ould  tyrant  Megales,  who  is  now 
governor  here.  There's  an  election  next  week.  The 
man  that  gets  most  votes  will  be  elected,  and  I'm 
thinking,  Bucky,  that  the  man  with  most  rifles  will 
get  most  votes.  Now,  says  Diaz,  in  effect,  wid  an 
official  wave  of  his  hand,  'Settle  your  own  rows, 

1 20 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


gintlemen.  I  don't  give  a  domn  whether  Megales 
or  Valdez  is  governor  of  Chihuahua,  subject,  of 
coorse,  to  the  will  of  the  people/  Then  he  winks 
at  Valdez  wid  his  off  eye  as  much  as  to  say:  'Go 
in  an'  win,  me  boy;  me  prayers  are  supporting  ye. 
But  be  sure  ye  do  nothing  too  illegal.'  So  there  ye 
are,  Bucky.  If  ould  Megales  was  to  wake  up  elec- 
tion morning  and  find  that  the  polling-places  was  in 
our  hands,  his  soldiers  disarmed  or  bought  over,  and 
everything  contributing  smoothly  to  express  the  will 
of  the  people  in  electing  him  to  take  a  swift  hike  out 
of  Chihuahua,  it  is  likely  that  he  might  accept  the 
inevitable  as  the  will  of  fate  and  make  a  strategic 
retreat  to  climes  more  healthy." 

"And  if  in  the  meantime  he  should  discover  those 
rifles,  or  one  of  those  slant-eyed  senors  should  turn 
out  a  Benedict  Arnold,  what  then,  my  friend?" 

"Don't  talk  in  that  cruel  way.  You  make  me 
neck  ache  in  anticipation,"  returned  O'Halloran 
blithely. 

"I  think  we'll  not  travel  with  you  in  public  till 
after  the  election,  Mr.  O'Halloran,"  reflected  Bucky 
aloud. 

"  'T would  be  just  as  well,  me  son.  My  friends 
won't  be  overpopular  with  Megales  if  the  cards  fall 
his  way." 

"If  you  win,  I  suppose  we  may  count  Henderson 
as  good  as  a  free  man?" 

"It  would  be  a  pity  if  me  pull  wouldn't  do  a  lit- 
tle thing  like  that,"  scoffed  the  conspirator  genially. 

121 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"But,  win  or  lose,  I  may  be  able  to  help  you.  We 
need  musicians  to  play  those  pianos  we're  bringing 
in.  Well,  the  most  dependable  men  we  can  set  to 
play  some  of  them  are  the  prisoners  in  the  fortress. 
There's  likely  to  be  a  wholesale  jail  delivery  the 
night  before  the  election.  Now,  it's  just  probable 
that  the  lads  we  free  will  fight  to  keep  their  free- 
dom. That's  why  we  use  them.  They  have  to  be 
true  to  us  because,  if  they  don't,  whichever  side  wins 
back  they  go  to  jail." 

"Of  course.  I  wish  I  could  take  a  hand  myself. 
But  I  can't,  because  I'm  a  soldier  of  a  friendly 
power.  We'll  get  Henderson  out  the  night  before 
the  election  and  leave  on  the  late  train.  You'll  have 
to  arrange  the  program  in  time  for  us  to  catch  that 
train." 

O'Halloran  looked  drolly  at  him.  "I'm  liking 
your  nerve,  young  man.  I  pull  the  chestnuts  out 
of  the  fire  for  yez  and,  likely  enough,  get  burned. 
You  walk  off  with  your  chestnut,  and  never  a 
'Thank  ye'  for  poor  Mickey  the  catspaw." 

"It  doesn't  look  like  quite  a  square  deal,  does  it  ?" 
laughed  the  ranger.  "Well,  we  might  vary  the 
program  a  bit.  Bucky  O'Connor,  Arizona  ranger, 
can't  stop  and  take  a  hand  in  such  a  game,  but  I 
don't  know  anything  to  prevent  a  young  gipsy  from 
Spain  staying  over  a  few  days." 

"If  you  stay,  I  shall,"  announced  the  boy  Frank. 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  seh.  You'll  do 
just  as  I  say,  according  to  the  agreement  you  made 

122 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


with  me  when  I  let  you  come,"  was  Bucky's  curt 
answer.  "We're  not  playing  this  game  to  please 
you,  Master  Frank." 

Yet  though  the  ranger  spoke  curtly,  though  he 
still  tried  to  hold  toward  his  comrade  precisely  the 
same  attitude  as  he  had  before  discovering  her  sex, 
he  could  not  put  into  his  words  the  same  peremp- 
tory sting  that  he  had  done  before  when  he  found 
that  occasionally  necessary.  For  no  matter  how 
severely  he  must  seem  to  deal  with  her  to  avoid 
her  own  suspicions  as  to  what  he  knew,  as  well  as 
to  keep  from  arousing  those  of  others,  his  heart 
was  telling  a  very  different  story  all  the  time.  He 
could  see  again  the  dainty  grace  with  which  she  had 
danced  for  him,  heard  again  that  low  voice  breaking 
into  a  merry  piping  lilt,  warmed  once  more  to  the 
living,  elusive  smile,  at  once  so  tender  and  mocking. 
He  might  set  his  will  to  preserve  an  even  front  to 
her  gay  charm,  but  it  was  beyond  him  to  control 
the  thrills  that  shot  his  pulses. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

FIRST:  BLOOD! 

Occasionally  Alice  Mackenzie  met  Collins  on  the 
streets  of  Tucson.  Once  she  saw  him  at  the  hotel 
where  she  was  staying,  deep  in  a  discussion  with 
her  father  of  ways  and  means  of  running  down  the 
robbers  of  the  Lkmted.  He  did  not,  however,  make 
the  least  attempt  to  push  their  train  acquaintance- 
ship beyond  the  give  and  take  of  casual  greeting. 
Without  showing  himself  unfriendly,  he  gave  her 
no  opportunity  to  determine  how  far  they  would  go 
with  each  other.  This  rather  piqued  her,  though 
she  would  probably  have  rebuffed  him  if  he  had  pre- 
sumed far.  Of  which  probability  Val  Collins  was 
very  well  aware. 

They  met  one  morning  in  front  of  a  drug  store 
downtown.  She  carried  a  parasol  that  was  lilac- 
trimmed,  which  shade  was  also  the  outstanding  note 
of  her  dress.  She  was  looking  her  very  best,  and  no 
doubt  knew  it.  To  Val  her  dainty  freshness  seemed 
to  breathe  the  sweetness  of  spring  violets. 

"Good  mo'ning,  Miss  Mackenzie.  Weather  like 
this  I'm  awful  glad  I  ain't  a  mummy,"  he  told  her. 
"The  world's  mighty  full  of  beautiful  things  this 
glad  day." 

"Essay  on  the  Appreciation  of  Nature,  by  Pro- 
fessor Collins,"  she  smiled. 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"To  be  continued  in  our  next,"  he  amended. 
"Won't  you  come  in  and  have  a  sundae  ?  You  look 
as  if  you  didn't  know  it,  but  the  rest  of  us  have 
discovered  it's  a  right  warm  mo'ning." 

Looking  across  the  little  table  at  him  over  her 
sundae,  she  questioned  him  with  innocent  impu- 
dence. "I  saw  you  and  dad  deep  in  plans  Tues- 
day. I  suppose  by  now  you  have  all  the  train  rob- 
bers safely  tucked  away  in  the  penitentiary?" 

"Not  yet,"  he  answered  cheerfully. 

"Not  yet!"  Her  lifted  eyebrows  and  the  deri- 
sive flash  beneath  mocked  politely  his  confidence. 
"By  this  time  I  should  think  they  might  be  hunting 
big  game  in  deepest  Africa." 

"They  might  be,  but  they're  not." 

"What  about  that  investment  in  futurities  you 
made  on  the  train?  The  month  is  more  than  half 
up.  Do  you  see  any  chance  of  realizing?" 

"It  looks  now  as  if  I  might  be  a  false  prophet, 
but  I  feel  way  down  deep  that  I  won't.  In  this 
prophet's  business  confidence  is  half  the  stock  in 
trade." 

"Really.  I'm  very  curious  to  know  what  it  is 
you  predicted.  Was  it  something  good?" 

"Good  for  me,"  he  nodded. 

"Then  I  think  you'll  get  it,"  she  laughed.  "I 
have  noticed  that  it  is  the  people  that  expect  things 
— and  then  go  out  and  take  them — that  inherit  the 
earth  these  days.  The  meek  have  been  dispos- 
sessed." 

125 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"I'm  glad  I  have  your  good  wishes." 

"I  didn't  say  you  had,  but  you'll  get  along  just  as 
well  without  them,"  she  answered  with  a  cool  little 
laugh  as  she  rose. 

"I'd  like  to  discuss  that  proposition  with  you  more 
at  length.  May  I  call  on  you  some  evening  this 
week,  Miss  Mackenzie?" 

There  was  a  sparkle  of  hidden  malice  in  her  an- 
swer. "You're  too  late,  Mr.  Collins.  We'll  have 
to  leave  it  undiscussed.  I'm  going  to  leave  to-day 
for  my  uncle's  ranch,  the  Rocking  Chair." 

He  was  distinctly  disappointed,  though  he  took 
care  not  to  show  it.  Nevertheless,  the  town  felt 
empty  after  her  train  had  gone.  He  was  glad  when 
later  in  the  day  a  message  came  calling  him  to 
Epitaph.  It  took  him  at  least  seventy-five  miles 
nearer  her. 

Before  he  had  been  an  hour  at  Epitaph  the  sheriff 
knew  he  had  struck  gold  this  time.  Men  were  in 
town  spending  money  lavishly,  and  at  a  rough  de- 
scription they  answered  to  the  ones  he  wanted.  Into 
the  Gold  Nugget  Saloon  that  evening  dropped  Val 
Collins,  big,  blond,  and  jaunty.  He  looked  far  less 
the  vigorous  sheriff  out  for  business  than  the  gre- 
garious cowpuncher  on  a  search  for  amusement. 

Del  Hawkes,  an  old-time  friend  of  his  staging 
days,  pounced  on  him  and  dragged  him  to  the  bar, 
whence  his  glance  fell  genially  on  the  roulette  wheel 
and  its  devotees,  wandered  casually  across  the  im- 
passive poker  and  Mexican  monte  players,  took  in 

126 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


the  enthroned  musicians,  who  were  industriously 
murdering  "La  Paloma,"  and  came  to  rest  for 
barely  an  instant  at  a  distant  faro  table.  In  the 
curly-haired  good-looking  young  fellow  facing  the 
dealer  he  saw  one  of  the  men  he  had  come  seeking. 
Nor  did  he  need  to  look  for  the  hand  with  the  miss- 
ing trigger  finger  to  be  sure  it  was  York  Neil — 
that  same  gay,  merry-hearted  York  with  whom  he 
used  to  ride  the  range,  changed  now  to  a  miscre- 
ant who  had  elected  to  take  the  short  cut  to  wealth. 

But  the  man  beside  Neil,  the  dark-haired,  pallid 
fellow  from  whose  presence  something  at  once  for- 
midable and  sinister  and  yet  gallant  seemed  to 
breathe — the  very  sight  of  him  set  the  mind  of  Col- 
lins at  work  busily  upon  a  wild  guess.  Surely  here 
was  a  worthy  figure  upon  whom  to  set  the  name 
and  reputation  of  the  notorious  Wolf  Leroy. 

Yet  the  sheriff's  eyes  rested  scarce  an  instant  be- 
fore they  went  traveling  again,  for  he  wanted  to 
show  as  yet  no  special  interest  in  the  object  of  his 
suspicions.  The  gathering  was  a  motley  one,  pic- 
turesque in  its  diversity.  For  here  had  drifted  not 
only  the  stranded  derelicts  of  a  frontier  civilization, 
but  selected  types  of  all  the  turbid  elements  that  go 
to  make  up  its  success.  Mexican,  millionaire,  and 
miner  brushed  shoulders  at  the  roulette-wheel. 
Chinaman  and  cow-puncher,  Papago  and  plainsman, 
tourist  and  tailor,  bucked  the  tiger  side  by  side  with 
a  democracy  found  nowhere  else  in  the  world.  The 
click  of  the  wheel,  the  monotonous  call  of  the 

127 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


croupier,  the  murmur  of  many  voices  in  alien 
tongues,  and  the  high-pitched  jarring  note  of  bois- 
terous laughter,  were  all  merged  in  a  medley  of  con- 
fusion as  picturesque  as  the  scene  itself. 

"Business  not  anyways  slack  at  the  Nugget,"  ven- 
tured Collins,  to  the  bartender. 

"No,  I  don't  know  as  'tis.  Nearly  always  some- 
thin'  doing  in  little  old  Epitaph,"  answered  the  pub- 
lic quencher  of  thirsts,  polishing  the  glass  top  of  the 
bar  with  a  cloth. 

"Playing  with  the  lid  off  back  there,  ain't  they  ?" 
The  sheriff's  nod  indicated  the  distant  faro-table. 

"That's  right,  I  guess.    Only  blue  chips  go." 

"It's  Wolf  Leroy — that  Mexican-looking  fellow 
there,"  Hawkes  explained  in  a  whisper.  "A  bad 
man  with  the  gun,  they  say,  too.  Well,  him  and 
York  Neil  and  Scotty  Dailey  blew  in  last  night 
from  their  mine,  up  at  Saguache.  Gave  it  out  he 
was  going  to  break  the  bank,  Leroy  did.  Back- 
ing that  opinion  usually  comes  high,  but  Leroy  is 
about  two  thousand  to  the  good,  they  say." 

"Scotty  Dailey?    Don't  think  I  know  him." 

"That  shorthorn  in  chaps  and  a  yellow  bandanna 
is  the  gentleman;  him  that's  playing  the  wheel  so 
constant.  You  don't  miss  no  world-beater  when  you 
don't  know  Scotty.  He's  Leroy's  Man  Friday. 
Understand  they've  struck  it  rich.  Anyway,  they're 
hitting  high  places  while  the  mazuma  lasts." 

"I  can't  seem  to  locate  their  mine.  What's  its 
brand?" 

128 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"The  Dalriada.  Some  other  guy  is  in  with  them ; 
fellow  by  the  name  of  Hardman,  if  I  recollect;  just 
bought  out  a  livery  barn  in  town  here." 

"Queer  thing,  luck;  strikes  about  as  unexpected 
as  lightning.  Have  another,  Del?'* 

"Don't  care  if  I  do,  Val.  It  always  makes  me 
thirsty  to  see  people  I  like.  Anything  new  up  Tuc- 
son way?" 

The  band  had  fallen  on  "Manzanilla,"  and  was 
rending  it  with  variations  when  Collins  circled  round 
to  the  wheel  and  began  playing  the  red.  He  took  a 
place  beside  the  bow-legged  vaquero  with  the  yel- 
low bandanna  knotted  loosely  round  his  throat.  For 
five  minutes  the  cow-puncher  attended  strictly  to  his 
bets.  Then  he  cursed  softly,  and  asked  Collins  to 
exchange  places  with  him. 

"This  place  is  my  hoodoo.  I  can't  win "  The 

sentence  died  in  the  man's  throat,  became  an  inar- 
ticulate gurgle  of  dismay. 

He  had  looked  up  and  met  the  steady  eyes  of  the 
sheriff,  and  the  surprise  of  it  had  driven  the  blood 
from  his  heart.  A  revolver  thrust  into  his  face 
could  not  have  shaken  him  more  than  that  serene 
smile. 

Collins  took  him  by  the  arm  with  a  jovial  laugh 
meant  to  cover  their  retreat,  and  led  him  into  one 
of  the  curtained  alcove  rooms.  As  they  entered 
he  noticed  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  that  Leroy 
and  Neil  were  still  intent  on  their  game.  Not  for  a 
moment,  not  even  while  the  barkeeper  was  answer- 

I2Q 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


ing  their  call  for  liquor,  did  the  sheriff  release  Scotty 
from  the  rigor  of  his  eyes,  and  when  the  attendant 
drew  the  curtain  behind  him  the  officer  let  his  smile 
take  on  a  new  meaning. 

"What  did  I  tell  you,  Scotty?" 
;      "Prove  it,"  defied  Scotty.     "Prove  it — you  can't 
prove  it." 

"What  can't  I  prove?" 

"Why,  that  I  was  in  that "  Scotty  stopped 

abruptly,  and  watched  the  smile  broaden  on  the 
strong  face  opposite  him.  His  dull  brain  had  come 
to  his  rescue  none  too  soon. 

"Now,  ain't  it  funny  how  people's  thoughts  get 
to  running  on  the  same  thing?  Last  time  I  met  up 
with  you  there  you  was  collecting  a  hundred  dollars 
and  keep-the-change  cents  from  me,  and  now  here 
you  are  spending  it.  It's  ce'tinly  curious  how  both 
of  us  are  remembering  that  little  seance  in  the  Pull- 
man car." 

Scotty  took  refuge  in  a  dogged  silence.  He  was 
sweating  fear. 

"Yes,  sir.  It  comes  up  right  vivid  before  me. 
There  was  you  a-trainin'  your  guns  on  me " 

"I  wasn't,"  broke  in  Scotty,  falling  into  the  trap. 

"That's  right.  How  come  I  to  make  such  a  mis- 
take? Of  cou'se  you  carried  the  sack  and  York 
Neil  held  the  guns." 

The  man  cursed  quietly,  and  relapsed  into  si- 
lence. 

"Always  buy  your  clothes  in  pairs  ?" 
130 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


The  sheriff's  voice  showed  only  a  pleasant  inter- 
est, but  the  outlaw's  frightened  eyes  were  puzzled  at 
tkis  sudden  turn. 

"Wearing  a  bandanna  same  color  and  pattern  as 
you  did  the  night  of  our  jamboree  on  the  Limited,  I 
see.  That's  mightily  careless  of  you,  ain't  it?" 

Instinctively  a  shaking  hand  clutched  at  the  ker- 
chief. "It  don't  cut  any  ice  because  a  hold-up  wears 
a  mask  made  out  of  stuff  like  this " 

"Did  I  say  it  was  a  mask  he  wore?"  the  gentle 
voice  quizzed. 

Scotty,  beads  of  perspiration  on  his  forehead,  col- 
lapsed as  to  his  defense.  He  fell  back  sullenly  to  his 
first  position :  "You  can't  prove  anything." 

"Can't  I?"  The  sheriff's  smile  went  out  like  a 
snuffed  candle.  Eyes  and  mouth  were  cold  and 
hard  as  chiseled  marble.  He  leaned  forward  far 
across  the  table,  a  confident,  dominating  assurance 
painted  on  his  face.  "Can't  I  ?  Don't  you  bank  on 
that.  I  can  prove  all  I  need  to,  and  your  friends 
will  prove  the  rest.  They'll  be  falling  all  over  them- 
selves to  tell  what  they  know — and  Mr.  Dailey  will 
be  holding  the  sack  again,  while  Leroy  and  the  rest 
are  slipping  out." 

The  outlaw  sprang  to  his  feet,  white  to  the  lips. 

"It's  a  damned  lie.  Leroy  would  never "  He 

stopped,  again  just  in  time  to  bite  back  the  confes- 
sion hovering  on  his  lips.  But  he  had  told  what 
Collins  wanted  to  know. 

The  curtain  parted,  and  a  figure  darkened  the 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


doorway — a  slender,  lithe  figure  that  moved  on 
springs.  Out  of  its  sardonic,  devil-may-care  face 
gleamed  malevolent  eyes  which  rested  for  a  moment 
on  Dailey,  before  they  came  home  to  the  sheriff. 

"And  what  is  it  Leroy  would  never  do  ?"  a  gibing 
voice  demanded  silkily. 

Scotty  pulled  himself  together  and  tried  to  bluff, 
but  at  the  look  on  his  chief's  face  the  words  died 
in  his  throat. 

Collins  did  not  lift  a  finger  or  move  an  eyelash, 
but  with  the  first  word  a  wary  alertness  ran  through 
him  and  starched  his  figure  to  rigidity.  He  gath- 
ered himself  together  for  what  might  come. 

"Well,  I  am  waiting.  What  it  is  Leroy  would 
never  do?"  The  voice  carried  a  scoff  with  it,  the 
implication  that  his  very  presence  had  stricken  con- 
spirators dumb. 

Collins  offered  the  explanation. 

"Mr.  Dailey  was  beginning  a  testimonial  of  your 
virtues  just  as  you  right  happily  arrived  in  time  to 
hear  it.  Perhaps  he  will  now  proceed." 

But  Dailey  had  never  a  word  left.     His  blunders 

>had  been  crying  ones,  and  his  chief's  menacing  look 

had  warned  him  what  to  expect.    The  courage  oozed 

out  of  his  heart,  for  he  counted  himself  already  a 

dead  man. 

"And  who  are  you,  my  friend,  that  make  so  free 
with  Wolf  Leroy's  name  ?"  It  was  odd  how  every 
word  of  the  drawling  sentence  contrived  to  carry  a 

132 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


taunt  and  a  threat  with  it,  strange  what  a  deadly 
menace  the  glittering  eyes  shot  forth. 

"My  name  is  Collins." 

"Sheriff  of  Pima  County  ?" 

"Yes." 

The  eyes  of  the  men  met  like  rapiers,  as  steady 
and  as  searching  as  cold  steel.  Each  of  them  was 
appraising  the  rare  quality  of  his  opponent  in  this 
duel  to  the  death  that  was  before  him. 

"What  are  you  doing  here  ?  Ain't  Pima  County 
your  range?" 

"I've  been  discussing  with  your  friend  the  late 
hold-up  on  the  Transcontinental  Pacific." 

"Ah!"  Leroy  knew  that  the  sheriff  was  serv- 
ing notice  on  them  of  his  purpose  to  run  down  the 
bandits.  Swiftly  his  mind  swept  up  the  factors  of 
the  situation.  Should  he  draw  now  and  chance  the 
result,  or  wait  for  a  more  certain  ending?  He 
decided  to  wait,  moved  by  the  consideration  that 
even  if  he  were  victorious  the  lawyers  were  sure  to 
draw  out  of  the  fat-brained  Scotty  the  cause  of  the 
quarrel. 

"Well,  that  don't  interest  me  any,  though  I  sup- 
pose you  have  to  explain  a  heap  how  come  they  to 
hold  you  up  and  take  your  gun.  I'll  leave  you  and 
your  jelly-fish  Scotty  to  your  gabfest.  Then  you 
better  run  back  home  to  Tucson.  We  don't  go  much 
on  visiting  sheriffs  here."  He  turned  on  his  heel 
with  an  insolent  laugh,  and  left  the  sheriff  alone 
with  Dailey. 

133 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


The  superb  contempt  of  the  man,  his  readiness 
to  give  the  sheriff  a  chance  to  pump  out  of  Dailey 
all  he  knew,  served  to  warn  Collins  that  his  life  was 
in  imminent  danger.  On  no  hypothesis  save  one — 
that  Leroy  had  already  condemned  them  both  to 
death  in  his  mind — could  he  account  for  such  rash- 
ness. And  that  the  blow  would  fall  soon,  before  he 
had  time  to  confer  with  other  officers,  was  a  corol- 
lary to  the  first  proposition. 

"He'll  surely  kill  me  on  sight,"  Scotty  burst  out. 

"Yes,  he'll  kill  you,"  agreed  the  sheriff,  "unless 
you  move  first." 

"Move  how?" 

"Against  him.  Protect  yourself  by  lining  up  with 
me.  It's  your  only  show  on  earth." 

Dailey's  eyes  flashed.  "Then,  by  thunder,  I  ain't 
taking  it!  I'm  no  coyote,  to  round  on  my  pardj 
ners." 

"I  give  it  to  you  straight.     He  means  murde{.M 

Perspiration  poured  from  the  man's  face.  "I'll 
light  out  of  the  country." 

The  sheriff  shook  his  head.  "You'd  neve*"  get 
away  alive.  Besides,  I  want  you  for  holding  up 
^the  Limited.  The  safest  place  for  you  is  in  jail,  and 
that's  where  I'm  going  to  put  you.  Drop  that  gun ! 
Quick!  That's  right.  Now,  you  and  I  are  goiag 
out  of  this  saloon  by  the  back  door.  I'm  going  to 
walk  beside  you,  and  we're  going  to  laugh  a-nd  talk 
as  if  we  were  the  best  of  friends,  but  my  hand  ain't 

134 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


straying  any  from  the  end  of  my  gun.  Get  that, 
amigof  All  right.  Then  we'll  take  a  little  pasear." 

As  Collins  and  his  prisoner  reappeared  in  the 
main  lobby  of  the  Gold  Nugget,  a  Mexican  slipped 
out  of  the  back  door  of  the  gambling-house.  The 
sheriff  called  Hawkes  aside. 

"I  want  you  to  call  a  hack  for  me,  Del.  Bring 
it  round  to  the  back  door,  and  arrange  with  the 
driver  to  whip  up  for  the  depot  as  soon  as  we  get 
in.  We  ought  to  catch  that  12:20  up-train.  When 
the  hack  gets  here  just  show  up  in  the  door.  If  you 
see  Leroy  or  Neil  hanging  around  the  door,  put 
your  hand  up  to  your  tie.  If  the  coast  is  clear, 
just  move  off  to  the  bar  and  order  something." 

"Sure,"  said  Hawkes,  and  was  off  at  once,  though 
just  a  thought  unsteady  from  his  frequent  libations. 

Both  hands  of  the  big  clock  on  the  wall  pointed 
to  twelve  when  Hawkes  appeared  again  in  the  door- 
way at  the  rear  of  the  Gold  Nugget.  With  a  wink 
at  Collins,  he  made  straight  for  the  cocktail  he 
thought  he  needed. 

"Now,"  said  the  sheriff,  and  immediately  he  and 
Dailey  passed  through  the  back  door.  i 

Instantly  two  shots  rang  out.  Collins  lurched 
forward  to  the  ground,  drawing  his  revolver  as  he 
fell.  Scotty,  twisting  from  his  grasp,  ran  in  a 
crouch  toward  the  alley  along  the  shadow  of  the 
buildings.  Shots  spattered  against  the  wall  as  his 
pursuers  gave  chase.  When  the  Gold  Nugget  vom- 
ited from  its  rear  door  a  rush  of  humanity  eager 

135 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


to  see  the  trouble,  the  noise  of  their  footsteps  was 
already  dying  in  the  distance. 

Hawkes  found  his  friend  leaning  against  thtx  back 
of  the  hack,  his  revolver  smoking  in  his  hand. 

"For  God's  sake,  Val!"  screamed  Hawkes.  "Did 
they  get  you?" 

'      "Punctured  my  leg.     That's  all.     But  I  expect 
they'll  get  Dailey." 

"How  come  you  to  go  out  when  I  signaled  you 
to  stay?" 

"Signaled  me  to  stay,  why " 

Collins  stopped,  unwilling  to  blame  his  friend. 
He  knew  now  that  Hawkes,  having  mixed  hi? 
drinks  earlier  in  the  evening,  had  mixed  his  signals 
later. 

"Get  me  a  horse,  Del,  and  round  up  two  or  three 
of  the  boys.  I've  got  to  get  after  those  fellows. 
They  are  the  ones  that  held  up  the  Limited  last 
week.  Find  out  for  me  what  hotel  they  put  up  at 
here.  I  want  their  rooms  searched.  Send  somebody 
round  to  the  corrals,  and  let  me  know  where  they 
stabled  their  horses.  If  they  left  any  papers  or 
s  saddle-bags,  get  them  for  me." 

Fifteen  minutes  later  Collins  was  in  the  saddle 
ready  for  the  chase,  and  only  waiting  for  his  volun- 
teer posse  to  join  him.  They  were  just  starting 
when  a  frightened  Chinaman  ran  into  the  plaza  with 
the  news  that  there  had  been  shooting  juet  back  of 
his  laundry  on  the  edge  of  town  and  that  a  man  had 
been  killed. 

136 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


When  the  sheriff  reached  the  spot,  he  lowered 
himself  from  the  saddle  and  limped  over  to  the 
black  mass  huddled  against  the  wall  in  the  bright 
moonlight.  He  turned  the  riddled  body  over  and 
looked  down  into  the  face  of  the  dead  man.  It 
was  that  of  the  outlaw,  Scotty  Dailey.  That  the 
body  had  been  thoroughly  searched  was  evident,  for 
all  around  him  were  scattered  his  belongings.  Here 
an  old  letter  and  a  sack  of  tobacco,  its  contents  emp- 
tied on  the  ground ;  there  his  coat  and  vest,  the  lin- 
ings of  each  of  them  ripped  out  and  the  pockets 
emptied.  Even  the  boots  and  socks  of  the  man  had 
been  removed,  so  thorough  had  been  the  search. 
Whatever  the  murderers  had  been  looking  for  it  was 
not  money,  since  his  purse,  still  fairly  well  lined 
with  greenbacks,  was  found  behind  a  cactus  bush  a 
few  yards  away. 

"What  in  time  were  they  after?"  frowned  Col- 
lins. "If  it  wasn't  his  money — and  it  sure  wasn't — 
what  was  it?  I  ce'tainly  would  like  to  know  what 
the  Wolf  wanted  so  blamed  bad.  Guess  I'll  not 
follow  Mr.  Leroy  just  now  till  my  leg  is  in  better 
shape.  Maybe  I  had  better  investigate  a  little  bit 
round  town  first." 

The  body  was  taken  back  to  the  Gold  Nugget 
and  placed  on  a  table,  pending  the  arrival  of  the 
undertaker.  It  chanced  that  Collins,  looking  ab- 
sently over  the  crowd,  glimpsed  a  gray  felt  hat  that 
looked  familiar  by  reason  of  a  frayed  silver  band 

137 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


round  it.  Underneath  the  hat  was  a  Mexican,  and 
him  the  sheriff  ordered  to  step  forward. 

"Where  did  you  get  that  hat,  Manuel  ?" 

"My  name  is  Jose — Jose  Archuleta,"  corrected 
the  olive-hued  one. 

"I  ain't  worrying  about  your  name,  son.  What 
I  want  to  know  is  where  you  found  that  hat." 

"In  the  alley  off  the  plaza,  senor." 

"All  right.    Chuck  it  up  here." 

"Muy  bien,  senor."  And  the  dusty  hat  was 
passed  from  hand  to  hand  till  it  reached  the  sheriff. 

Collins  ripped  off  the  silver  band  and  tore  out  the 
sweat-pad.  It  was  an  off  chance — one  in  a  thou- 
sand— but  worth  trying  none  the  less.  And  a  mo- 
ment later  he  knew  it  was  the  chance  that  won.  For 
sewed  to  the  inside  of  the  discolored  sweat-pad  was 
a  little  strip  of  silk.  With  his  knife  he  carefully  re- 
moved the  strip,  and  found  between  it  and  the 
leather  a  folded  fragment  of  paper  closely  covered 
with  writing.  He  carried  this  to  the  light,  and 
made  it  out  to  be  a  memorandum  of  direction  of 
some  sort.  Slowly  he  spelled  out  the  poorly  writ- 
ten words: 

From  Y.  N.  took  Unowhat.  Went  twenty  yards  strate  for 
big  rock.  Eight  feet  direckly  west.  Fifty  yards  in  direcksion 
of  suthern  Antelope  Peke.  Then  eighteen  to  nerest  coton- 
wood.  J.  H.  begins  hear. 

Collins  read  the  scrawl  twice  before  an  inkling  of 
its  meaning  came  home  to  him.  Then  in  a  flash 
h:s  brain  was  lighted.  It  was  a  memorandum  of  the 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


place  where  Dailey's  share  of  the  plunder  was 
buried. 

His  confederates  had  known  that  he  had  it,  and 
had  risked  capture  to  make  a  thorough  search  for 
the  paper.  That  they  had  not  found  it  was  due  only 
to  the  fact  that  the  murdered  man  had  lost  his  hat 
as  he  scurried  down  the  streets  before  them. 

The  doctor,  having  arrived,  examined  the  wound 
and  suggested  an  anaesthetic.  Collins  laughed. 

"I  reckon  not,  doc.  You  round  up  that  lead  pill 
and  I'll  endure  the  grief  without  knockout  drops." 

While  the  doctor  was  probing  for  the  bullet 
lodged  in  his  leg,  the  sheriff  studied  the  memoran- 
dum found  in  Dailey's  hat.  He  found  it  blind,  dis- 
appointing work,  for  there  was  no  clearly  indicated 
starting-point.  Bit  by  bit  he  took  it : 

From  Y.  N.  took  Unowhat. 

This  was  clear  enough,  so  far  as  it  went.  It 
could  only  mean  that  from  York  Neil  the  writer 
had  taken  the  plunder  to  hide.  But  where  did  he 
take  it?  From  what  point?  A  starting-point  must 
be  found  somewhere,  or  the  memorandum  was  of  no 
use.  Probably  only  Neil  could  supply  the  needed 
information,  now  that  Dailey  was  dead. 

Went  twenty  yards  strate  for  big  rock.  Eight  feet  direckly 
west.  Fifty  yards  in  direcksion  of  suthern  Antelope  Peke. 
Then  eighteen  to  nerest  cotonwood. 

All  this  was  plain  enough,  but  the  last  sentence 
was  the  puzzler. 

J.  H.  begins  hear. 

139 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


Was  J.  H.  a  person?  If  so,  what  did  he  begin. 
If  Dailey  had  buried  his  plunder,  what  had  J.  H. 
left  to  do? 

But  had  he  buried  it  ?  Collins  smiled.  It  was  not 
likely  he  had  handed  it  over  to  anybody  else  to 
hide  for  him.  And  yet 

He  clapped  his  hand  down  on  his  knee.  "By  the 
jumping  California  frog,  I've  got  it!"  he  told  him- 
self. "They  hid  the  bulk  of  what  they  got  from  the 
Limited  all  together.  Went  out  in  a  bunch  to  hide 
it.  Blind-folded  each  other,  and  took  turn  about 
blinding  up  the  trail.  No  one  of  them  can  go  get 
the  loot  without  the  rest.  When  they  want  it,  every 
one  of  these  memoranda  must  be  Johnny-on-the-spot 
before  they  can  dig  up  the  mazuma.  No  wonder 
Wolf  Leroy  searched  so  thorough  for  this  bit  of 
paper.  I'll  bet  a  stack  of  blue  chips  against  Wolf's 
chance  of  heaven  that  he's  the  sorest  train-robber 
right  this  moment  that  ever  punctured  a  car-win- 
dow." 

Collins  laughed  softly,  nor  had  the  smile  died 
out  of  his  eyes  when  Hawkes  came  into  the  room 
with  information  to  the  point.  He  had  made  a 
round  of  the  corrals,  and  discovered  that  the  out- 
laws' horses  had  been  put  up  at  Jay  Hardman's 
place,  a  tumble-down  feed-station  on  the  edge  of 
town. 

"Jay  didn't  take  kindly  to  my  questions,"  Hawkes 
explained,  "but  after  a  little  rock-me-to-sleep-mother 
talk  I  soothed  him  down  some,  and  cut  the  trail  of 

140 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


Wolf  Leroy  and  his  partners.  The  old  man  give 
me  several  specimens  of  langwidge  unwashed  and 
uncombed  when  I  told  him  Wolf  and  York  was  out- 
laws and  train-robbers.  Didn't  believe  a  word  of  it, 
he  said.  'Twas  just  like  the  fool  officers  to  jump  an 
innocent  party.  I  told  Jay  to  keep  his  shirt  on  —  he 
could  turn  his  wolf  lose  when  they  framed  up  that 
he  was  in  it.  Well,  sir  !  I  plumb  thought  for  a  mo- 
ment he  was  going  to  draw  on  me  when  I  said  that. 
Say  he  must  be  the  fellow  that's  in  on  that  mine, 
with  Leroy  and  York  Neil.  He's  a  big,  long-haired 


Collins'  eyes  narrowed  to  slits,  as  they  always  did 
when  he  was  thinking  intensely.  Were  their  sus- 
picions of  the  showman  about  to  be  justified?  Did 
Jay  Hardman's  interest  in  Leroy  have  its  source 
merely  in  their  being  birds  of  a  feather,  or  was 
there  a  more  direct  community  of  lawlessness  be- 
tween them?  Was  he  a  member  of  Wolf  Leroy  's 
murderous  gang?  Three  men  had  joined  in  the 
chase  of  Dailey,  but  the  tracks  had  told  him  that 
only  two  horses  had  galloped  from  the  scene  of  the 
murder  into  the  night.  The  inference  left  to  draw 
was  that  a  local  accomplice  had  joined  them  in  the 
chase  of  Scotty,  and  had  slipped  back  home  after 
the  deed  had  been  finished. 

What  more  likely  than  that  Hardman  had  been 
this  accomplice?  Hawkes  said  he  was  a  big,  long- 
haired fellow.  So  was  the  man  that  had  held  up 
the  engineer  of  the  Limited.  He  was  -  "J.  H. 

141 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


begins  hear."  Like  a  flash  the  ill-written  scrawl 
jumped  to  his  sight.  "J.  H."  was  Jay  Hardman. 
What  luck! 

The  doctor  finished  his  work,  and  Collins  tested 
his  leg  gingerly.  "Del,  I'm  going  over  to  have  a 
little  talk  with  the  old  man.  Want  to  go  along?" 

"You  bet  I  do,  Val"— from  Del  Hawkes. 

"You  mustn't  walk  on  that  leg  for  a  week  or  two 
yet,  Mr.  Collins,"  the  doctor  explained,  shaking  his 
head. 

"That  so,  doctor?  And  it  nothing  but  a  nice 
clean  flesh-wound!  Sho!  I've  a  deal  more  confi- 
dence in  you  than  that.  Ready,  Del?" 

"It's  at  your  risk  then,  Mr.  Collins." 

"Sure."  The  sheriff  smiled.  "I'm  Iking  at  my 
own  risk,  doctor.  But  I'd  a  heap  rather  be  alive 
than  daid,  and  take  all  the  risk  that's  coming,  too. 
But  since  you  make  a  point  of  it,  I'll  do  most  of 
my  walking  on  a  bronco's  back." 

They  found  Mr.  Hardman  just  emerging  from 
the  stable  with  a  saddle-pony  when  they  rode  into 
the  corral.  At  a  word  from  Collins,  Hawkes  took 
the  precaution  to  close  the  corral  gate. 

The  fellow  held  a  wary  position  on  the  farther 
side  of  his  horse,  the  while  he  ripped  out  a  raucous 
string  of  invectives. 

"Real  fluent,  ain't  he  ?"  murmured  Hawkes,  as  he 
began  to  circle  round  to  flank  the  enemy. 

"Stay  right  there,  Del  Hawkes.  Move,  you  red- 
haided  son  of  a  brand  blotter,  and  I'll  pump  holes 

142 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


in  you!"  A  rifle  leveled  across  the  saddle  empha- 
sized his  sentiments. 

"Plumb  hospitable,"  grinned  Hawkes,  coming 
promptly  to  a  halt. 

Collins  rode  slowly  forward,  his  hand  on  the  butt 
of  the  revolver  that  still  lay  in  its  scabbard.  The 
Winchester  covered  every  step  of  his  progress,  but 
he  neither  hastened  nor  faltered,  though  he  knew 
his  life  hung  in  the  balance.  If  his  steely  blue  eyes 
had  released  for  one  moment  the  wolfish  ones  of  the 
villain,  if  he  had  hesitated  or  hurried,  he  would  have 
been  shot  through  the  head. 

But  the  eyes  of  a  brave  man  are  the  king  of 
weapons.  Hardman's  fingers  itched  at  the  trigger 
he  had  not  the  courage  to  pull.  For  such  an  un- 
flawed  nerve  he  knew  himself  no  match. 

"Keep  back,"  he  screamed.  "Damn  it,  another 
step  and  I'll  fire!" 

But  he  did  not  fire,  though  Collins  rode  up  to 
him,  dismounted,  and  threw  the  end  of  the  rifle  care- 
lessly from  him. 

"Don't  be  rash,  Hardman.  I've  come  here  to  put 
you  under  arrest  for  robbing  the  T.  P.  Limited,  and 
I'm  going  to  do  it." 

The  indolent,  contemptuous  drawl,  so  free  of  even 
a  suggestion  of  the  strain  the  sheriff  must  have  been 
under,  completed  his  victory.  The  fellow  lowered 
his  rifle  with  a  peevish  oath. 

"You're  barkin'  up  the  wrong  tree,  Mr.  Collins." 

"I  guess  not,"  retorted  the  sheriff  easily.     "Del, 

us 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


you  better  relieve  Mr.  Hardman  of  his  ballast.  He 
ain't  really  fit  to  be  trusted  with  a  weapon,  and 
him  so  excitable.  That  Winchester  came  awful  near 
going  off,  friend.  You  don't  want  to  be  so  careless 
when  you're  playing  with  firearms.  It's  a  habit 
that's  liable  to  get  you  into  trouble." 

Collins  had  not  shaved  death  so  closely  without 
feeling  a  reaction  of  boyish  gaiety  at  his  adventure. 
It  bubbled  up  in  his  talk  like  effervescing  soda. 

"Now  we'll  go  into  a  committee  of  the  whole, 
gentlemen,  adjourn  to  the  stable,  and  have  a  little 
game  of  'Button,  button,  who's  got  the  button?* 
You  first,  Mr.  Hardman.  If  you'll  kindly  shuck 
your  coat  and  vest,  we'll  begin  button-hunting." 

They  diligently  searched  the  miscreant  without 
finding  anything  pertaining  to  "J.  H.  begins  hear." 

"He's  bound  to  have  it  somewhere,"  asseverated 
Collins.  "It  don't  stand  to  reason  he  was  making 
his  getaway  without  that  paper.  We  got  to  be  more 
thorough,  Del." 

Hawkes,  under  the  direction  of  his  friend,  ripped 
out  linings  and  tore  away  pockets  from  clothing. 
The  saddle  on  the  bronco  and  the  saddle-blankets 
were  also  torn  to  pieces  in  vain. 

Finally  Hawkes  scratched  his  poll  and  looked 
down  on  the  wreckage.  "I  hate  to  admit  it,  Val,  but 
the  old  fox  has  got  us  beat ;  it  ain't  on  his  person." 

"Not  unless  he's  got  it  under  his  skin,"  agreed 
Collins,  with  a  grin. 

144 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"Maybe  he  ate  it.  Think  we  better  operate  and 
find  out?" 

An  idea  hit  the  sheriff.  He  walked  up  to  Hard- 
man  and  ordered  him  to  open  his  mouth. 

The  jaws  set  like  a  vise. 

Collins  poked  his  revolver  against  the  closed 
mouth.  "Swear  for  us,  old  bird.  Get  a  move  on 
you." 

The  mouth  opened,  and  Collins  inserted  two  fin- 
gers. When  he  withdrew  them  they  brought  a  set 
of  false  teeth.  Under  the  plate  was  a  tiny  rubber 
bag  that  stuck  to  it.  Inside  the  bag  was  a  paper. 
And  on  it  was  written  four  lines  in  Spanish.  Those 
lines  told  what  he  wanted  to  know.  They,  too,  were 
part  of  a  direction  for  finding  hidden  treasure. 

The  sheriff  wired  at  once  to  Bucky,  in  Chihuahua. 
Translated  into  plain  English,  his  cipher  dispatch 
meant:  "Come  home  at  once.  Trail  getting  red 
hot." 

But  Bucky  did  not  come.  As  it  happened,  that 
young  man  had  other  fish  to  fry. 


145 


CHAPTER  IX. 


"ADORE  HAS  ONLY  ONE  D." 


After  all,  adventures  are  to  the  adventurous.  In 
this  prosaic  twentieth  century  the  Land  of  Romance 
stir  beckons  to  eager  eyes  and  gallant  hearts.  The 
rutted  money-grabber  may  deny  till  he  is  a  nerve- 
racked  counting-machine,  but  youth,  even  to  the  end 
of  time,  will  laugh  to  scorn  his  pessimism  and  ven- 
ture with  elastic  heel  where  danger  and  mystery  of- 
fer their  dubious  hazards. 

So  it  was  that  Bucky  and  his  little  comrade  found 
nothing  of  dulness  in  the  mission  to  which  they  had 
devoted  themselves.  In  their  task  of  winning  free- 
dom for  the  American  immured  in  the  Chihuahua 
dungeon  they  already  found  themselves  in  the  heart 
of  a  web  of  intrigue,  the  stakes  of  which  were  so 
high  as  to  carry  life  and  death  with  them  in  the  bal- 
ance. But  for  them  the  sun  shone  brightly.  It 
was  enough  that  they  played  the  game  and  shared 
the  risks  together.  The  jocund  morning  was  in 
their  hearts,  and  brought  with  it  an  augury  of  suc- 
cess based  on  nothing  so  humdrum  or  tangible  as 
reason. 

O'Connor  carried  with  him  to  the  grim  fortress 
not  only  his  permit  for  an  inspection,  but  also  a  note 
from  O'Halloran  that  was  even  more  potent  in  ef- 

146 


BUCKY  %  O'CONNOR 


feet.  For  Colonel  Ferdinand  Gabilonda,  warden  of 
the  prison,  had  a  shrewd  suspicion  that  a  plot  was 
under  way  to  overthrow  the  unpopular  administra- 
tion of  Megales,  and  though  he  was  an  office-holder 
under  the  present  government  he  had  no  objection 
to  ingratiating  himself  with  the  opposition,  provid- 
ing it  could  be  done  without  compromising  himself 
openly.  In  other  words,  the  warden  was  sitting  on 
the  fence  waiting  to  see  which  way  the  cat  would 
jump.  If  the  insurgents  proved  the  stronger  party, 
he  meant  to  throw  up  his  hat  and  shout  "Viva  Val- 
dez."  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  government  party 
crushed  them  he  would  show  himself  fussily  active 
in  behalf  of  Megales.  Just  now  he  was  exerting 
all  his  diplomacy  to  maintain  a  pleasant  relationship 
with  both.  Since  it  was  entirely  possible  that  the 
big  Irishman  O'Halloran  might  be  the  man  on 
horseback  within  a  very  few  days,  the  colonel  was 
all  suave  words  and  honeyed  smiles  to  his  friend  the 
ranger. 

Indeed  he  did  him  the  unusual  honor  of  a  per- 
sonally conducted  inspection.  Gabilonda  was  a  fat 
little  man,  with  a  soft,  purring  voice  and  a  pompous 
manner.  He  gushed  with  the  courteous  volubility 
of  his  nation,  explaining  with  great  gusto  this  and 
that  detail  of  the  work.  Bucky  gave  him  outwardly 
a  deferent  ear,  but  his  alert  mind  and  eyes  were 
scanning  the  prisoners  they  saw.  The  ranger  was 
trying  to  find  in  one  of  these  scowling,  defiant  faces 

147 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


some  resemblance  to  the  picture  his  mind  had  made 
of  Henderson. 

But  Bucky  looked  in  vain.  If  the  man  he  wanted 
was  among  these  he  had  changed  beyond  recogni- 
tion. In  the  end  he  was  forced  to  ask  Gabilonda 
plainly  if  he  would  not  take  him  to  see  David  Hen- 
derson, as  he  knew  a  man  in  Arizona  who  was  an 
old  friend  of  his,  and  he  would  like  to  be  able  to 
tell  him  that  he  had  seen  his  friend. 

Henderson  was  breaking  stone  when  O'Connor 
got  his  first  glimpse  of  him.  He  continued  to  swing 
his  hammer  listlessly,  without  looking  up,  when 
the  door  opened  to  let  in  the  warden  and  his  guests. 
But  something  in  the  ranger's  steady  gaze  drew  his 
eyes.  They  were  dull  eyes,  and  sullen,  but  when 
he  saw  that  Bucky  was  an  American,  the  fire  of  in- 
telligence flashed  into  them. 

"May  I  speak  to  him  ?"  asked  O'Connor. 

"It  is  against  the  rules,  senor,  but  if  you  will  be 

brief "     The  colonel  shrugged,  and  turned  his 

back  to  them,  in  order  not  to  see.  It  must  be  said 
for  Gabilonda  that  his  capacity  for  blinking  what  he 
did  not  think  it  judicious  to  see  was  enormous. 

"You  are  David  Henderson,  are  you  not?"  the 
ranger  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

Surprise  filtered  into  the  dull  eyes.  "That  was 
my  name,"  the  man  answered  bitterly.  "I  have  a 
number  now." 

"I  come  from  Webb  Mackenzie  to  get  you  out  of 
this,"  the  ranger  said. 

148 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


The  man's  eyes  were  no  longer  dull  now,  but 
flaming  with  hatred.  "Curse  him,  I'll  take  nothing 
from  his  hands.  For  fifteen  years  he  has  let  me  rot 
in  hell  without  lifting  a  hand  for  me." 

"He  thought  you  dead.  It  can  all  be  explained. 
It  was  only  last  week  that  the  mystery  of  your  dis- 
appearance was  solved." 

"Then  why  didn't  he  come  himself?  It  was  to 
save  his  little  girl  I  got  myself  into  this  place.  If 
I  had  been  in  his  shoes  I  would  have  come  if  I'd 
had  to  crawl  on  my  hands  and  knees." 

"He  doesn't  know  yet  you  are  here.  I  wrote  him 
simply  that  I  knew  where  you  were,  and  then  I  came 
at  once."  Bucky  glanced  round  warily  at  the  fat 
colonel  gazing  placidly  out  of  the  barred  window. 
"I  mean  to  rescue  you,  and  I  knew  if  he  were  here 
his  impulsiveness  would  ruin  everything." 

"Do  you  mean  it?  For  God's  sake!  don't  lie  to 
me.  If  there's  no  hope  for  me,  don't  say  there  is." 
The  prisoner's  voice  shook  and  his  hands  trembled. 
He  was  only  the  husk  of  the  man  he  had  been,  but 
it  did  Bucky's  heart  good  to  see  that  the  germ  of 
life  was  still  in  him.  Back  in  Arizona,  on  the  Rock- 
ing Chair  Ranch,  with  the  free  winds  of  the  plains 
beating  on  his  face,  he  would  pick  up  again  the  old 
strands  of  his  broken  life,  would  again  learn  to  love 
the  lowing  of  cattle  and  the  early  morning  call  of 
the  hooter  to  his  mate. 

"I  mean  it.  As  sure  as  I  stand  here  I'll  get  you 
out,  or,  if  I  don't,  Webb  Mackenzie  will.  We're 

149 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


calling  the  matter  to  the  attention  of  the  United 
States  Government,  but  we  are  not  going  to  wait 
till  that  time  to  free  you.  Keep  up  your  courage, 
man.  It  is  only  for  a  little  time  now." 

Tears  leaped  to  the  prisoner's  eyes.  He  had 
been  a  game  man  in  the  dead  years  that  were  past, 
none  gamer  in  Texas,  and  he  could  still  face  his 
jailers  with  an  impassive  face;  but  this  first  kindly 
word  from  his  native  land  in  fifteen  years  to  the 
man  buried  alive  touched  the  fount  of  his  emotions. 
He  turned  away  and  leaned  against  the  grating  of 
his  cell,  his  head  resting  on  his  forearm.  "My  God ! 
man,  you  don't  know  what  it  means  to  me.  Some- 
times I  think  I  shall  go  mad  and  rave.  After  all 

these  years But  I  know  you'll  fail It's 

too  good  to  be  true,"  he  finished  quietly. 

"I'll  not  fail,  though  I  may  be  delayed.  But  I 
can't  say  more.  Gabilonda  is  coming  back.  Next 
time  I  see  you  it  will  be  to  take  you  out  to  freedom. 
Think  of  that  always,  and  believe  it." 

Gabilonda  bowed  urbanely.  "If  the  sefior  has 
seen  all  he  cares  to  of  this  department  we  will  re- 
turn to  the  office,"  he  suggested  suavely. 

"Certainly,  colonel.  I  can't  appreciate  too  much 
your  kindness  in  allowing  me  to  study  your  system 
so  carefully." 

"Any  friend  of  my  friend  the  Senor  O'Halloran 
is  cherished  deeply  in  my  heart,"  came  back  the 
smiling  colonel,  with  a  wave  of  his  plump,  soft  hand. 

"I  am  honored,  sir,  to  receive  such  consideration 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


at  the  hands  of  so  distinguished  a  soldier  as  Colonel 
Gabilonda,"  bowed  Bucky  gravely,  in  his  turn,  with 
the  most  flowery  Spanish  he  could  muster. 

There  was  another  half -hour  of  the  mutual  ex- 
change of  compliments  before  O'Connor  could  get 
away.  Alphonse  and  Gaston  were  fairly  outdone, 
for  the  Arizonian,  with  a  smile  hidden  deep  behind 
the  solemnity  of  his  blue  eyes,  gave  as  good  as  he 
got.  When  he  was  at  last  fairly  in  the  safety  of 
his  own  rooms  he  gave  way  to  limp  laughter  while 
describing  to  his  little  friend  that  most  ceremonious 
parting. 

"He  pressed  me  to  his  manly  bay  window,  Curly, 
and  allowed  he  was  plumb  tickled  to  death  to  have 
met  me.  Says  I,  coming  back  equal  strong,  'twas 
the  most  glorious  day  of  my  life." 

"Oh,  I  know  you,"  answered  young  Hardman, 
with  a  smile. 

"A  friend*  of  his  friend  O'Halloran " 

"Mr.  O'Halloran  was  here  while  you  were  away. 
He  seemed  very  anxious  to  see  you;  said  he  would 
call  again  in  an  hour.  I  think  it  must  be  impor- 
tant." 

Came  at  that  instant  O'Halloran's  ungentle  knock, 
on  the  heels  of  which  his  red  head  came  through 
the  open  door. 

"You're  the  very  lad  I'm  wanting  to  see,  Bucky," 
he  announced,  and  followed  this  declaration  by  lock- 
ing all  the  doors  and  beckoning  him  to  the  center 
of  the  room. 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"Is  that  tough  neck  of  yours  aching  again,  Red- 
dy  ?"  inquired  his  friend  whimsically. 

"It  is  that,  me  bye.  There's  the  very  divil  to 
pay,"  he  whispered. 

"Cough  it  out,  Mike/' 

"That  tyrant  Megales  is  onto  our  game.  Some- 
body's leaked,  or  else  he  has  a  spy  in  our  councils 
— as  we  have  in  his,  the  ould  scoundrel." 

"I  see.  Your  spy  has  told  you  that  his  spy  has 
reported  to  him " 

"That  the  guns  are  to  be  brought  in  to-night.  He 
has  sent  out  a  guard  to  bring  them  in  safely  to  him. 
If  he  gets  them,  our  game  is  up,  me  son,  and  you 
can  bet  your  last  nickle  on  that." 

"If  he  gets  them!    Is  there  a  chance  for  us?" 

"Glory  be!  there  is.  You  see,  he  doesn't  know 
that  we  know  what  he  has  done.  For  that  reason 
he  sent  out  only  a  guard  of  forty  men.  If  he  sent 
more  we  would  suspect  what  he  was  doing,  ye  see. 
That  is  the  way  the  old  fox  reasoned.  But  forty 
— they  were  able  to  slip  out  of  the  city  on  last 
night's  train  in  civilian's  clothes  and  their  arms  in  a 
couple  of  coffins." 

"Why  didn't  he  send  a  couple  of  hundred  men 
openly,  and  at  the  same  time  arrest  you  all?" 

"That  doesn't  suit  his  book  at  all.  For  one  thing, 
he  probably  doesn't  know  all  of  us,  and  he  doesn't 
want  to  bag  half  of  us  and  throw  the  rest  into  im- 
mediate rebellion.  It's  his  play  not  to  force  the 
issue  until  after  the  election,  Bucky.  He  controls 

152 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


all  the  election  machinery  and  will  have  himself  de- 
clared reflected,  the  old  scamp,  notwithstanding 
that  he's  the  most  unpopular  man  in  the  State.  To 
precipitate  trouble  now  would  be  just  foolishness,  ' 
he  argues.  So  he'll  just  capture  our  arms,  and  after 
the  election  give  me  and  my  friends  quiet  hell. 
Nothing  public,  you  know — just  unfortunate  assas- 
sinations that  he  will  regret  exceedingly,  me  bye. 
But  I  have  never  yit  been  assassinated,  and,  on  prin- 
ciple, I  object  to  being  trated  so.  It's  very  destruc- 
tive to  a  man's  future  usefulness." 

"And  so  ?"  laughed  the  ranger. 

"And  so  we've  arranged  to  take  a  few -lads  up  the 
line  and  have  a  train  hold-up.  I'm  the  robber-in- 
chief.  Would  ye  like  to  be  second  in  command  of 
the  lawless  ruffians,  me  son?" 

Bucky  met  his  twinkling  eye  gaily.  "Mr.  O'Con- 
nor is  debarred  from  taking  part  in  such  an  out- 
rageous affair  by  international  etiquette,  but  he 
knows  a  gipsy  lad  would  be  right  glad  to  join,  I 
reckon." 

"Bully  for  him.  If  you'll  kindly  have  him  here 
I'll  come  around  and  collect  him  this  evening  at 
eight-thirty  sharp." 

"I  hope  you'll  provide  a  pleasant  entertainment 
for  him." 

"We'll  do  our  best,"  grinned  the  revolutionist. 
"Music  provided  by  Megales'  crack  military  band. 
A  lively  and  enjoyable  occasion  guaranteed  to  all 
who  attend.  Your  friend  will  meet  some  of  the 

153 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


smartest  officers  in  the  State.  It  promises  to  be  a 
most  sumptuous  affair/' 

"Then  my  friend  accepts  with  pleasure." 

After  the  conspirator  had  gone,  Frank  spoke  up. 
"You  wouldn't  go  away  with  him  and  leave  me  here 
alone,  would  you?" 

"I  ce'tainly  shouldn't  take  you  with  me,  kid.  I 
don't  want  my  little  friend  all  shot  up  by  greasers." 

"If  you're  going,  I  want  to  go,  too.  Supposing — 
if  anything  were  to  happen  to  you,  what  could  I 
do?" 

"Leave  the  country  by  the  next  train.  Those  are 
the  orders." 

"You're  always  talking  about  a  square  deal.  Do 
you  think  that  is  one?  I  might  say  that  I  don't 
want  you  shot.  You  don't  care  anything  about  my 
feelings."  The  soft  voice  had  a  little  break  in  it 
that  Bucky  loved. 

He  walked  across  to  his  partner,  that  rare,  tender 
smile  of  his  in  his  eyes.  "If  I'm  always  talking 
about  a  square  deal  I  reckon  I  have  got  to  give  you 
one.  Now,  what  would  you  think  a  square  deal, 
Curly  ?  Would  it  be  square  for  me  to  let  my  friend 
O'Halloran  stand  all  the  risk  of  this  and  then  me 
take  the  reward  when  Henderson  has  been  freed  by 
him?  Would  that  be  your  notion  of  the  right 
thing?" 

"I  didn't  say  that,  though  I  don't  see  why  you 
have  to  mix  yourself  up  in  his  troubles.  Why 

154 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


should  you  go  out  and  kill  these  soldiers  that  haven't 
injured  you?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  kill  any  of  them,"  he  smiled. 
"Besides,  that  isn't  the  way  I  look  at  it.  This  fel- 
low Megales  is  a  despot.  He  has  made  out  to  steal 
the  liberty  of  the  people  from  them.  President 
Diaz  can't  interfere  because  the  old  rascal  governor 
does  everything  with  that  smooth,  oily  way  of  his 
under  cover  of  law.  It's  up  to  some  of  the  people 
to  put  up  a  good  strong  kick  for  themselves.  I  ain't 
a  bit  sorry  to  give  them  the  loan  of  my  foot  while 
they  are  doing  it." 

"Then  can't  I  go,  too?  I  don't  want  to  be  left 
alone  here  and  you  away  fighting." 

Bucky's  eyes  gleamed.  He  dared  an  experi- 
ment in  an  indifferent  drawl.  "Whyfor  don't  you 
want  to  stay  alone,  kid?  Are  you  afraid  for  your- 
self or  for  me?" 

His  partner's  cheeks  were  patched  with  roses. 
Shyly  the  long,  thick  lashes  lifted  and  let  the  big 
brown  eyes  meet  his  blue  ones.  "Maybe  I'm  afraid 
for  both  of  us." 

"Would  you  care  if  one  of  their  pills  happened 
along  in  the  scrimmage  and  put  me  out  of  business? 
Honest,  would  you?" 

"You  haven't  any  right  to  talk  that  way.  It's 
cruel,"  was  the  reply  that  burst  from  the  pretty  lips, 
and  he  noticed  that  at  his  suggestion  the  roses  had 
died  from  soft  cheeks. 

"Well,  I  won't  talk  that  way  any  more,  little  part- 

155 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


ner,"  he  answered  gaily,  taking  the  small  hand  in 
his.  "For  reasons  good.  I'm  fireproof.  The 
Mexican  bullet  hasn't  been  cast  yet  that  can  find 
Bucky  O'Connor's  heart." 

"But  you  mustn't  think  that,  either,  and  be  reck- 
less," was  the  next  injunction.  The  shy  laugh  rang 
like  music.  "That's  why  I  want  to  go  along,  to  see 
that  you  behave  yourself  properly." 

"Oh,  I'll  behave,"  he  laughed ;  for  the  young  man 
found  it  very  easy  to  be  happy  when  those  sweet 
eyes  were  showing  concern  for  him.  "I've  got  sev- 
eral good  reasons  why  I  don't  aim  to  get  bumped 
off  just  yet.  Heaps  of  first-rate  reasons.  I'll  tell 
you  what  some  of  them  are  one  of  these  days,"  he 
dared  to  add. 

"You  had  better  tell  me  now."  The  gaze  that  fell 
before  his  steady  eyes  was  both  shy  and  eager. 

"No,  I  reckon  I'll  wait,  Curly,"  he  answered, 
turning  away  with  a  long  breath.  "Well,  we  better 
go  out  and  get  some  grub,  tortillas  and  frijoles, 
don't  you  think  ?" 

"Just  as  you  like."  The  lad's  breath  was  coming 
a  little  fast.  They  had  been  on  the  edge  of  some 
moment  of  intimacy  that  Bucky 's  partner  both 
longed  for  and  dreaded.  "But  you  have  not  told 
me  yet  whether  I  can  go  with  you." 

"You  can't.  I'm  sorry.  I'd  like  first-rate  to  take 
you,  if  you  want  to  go,  but  I  can't  do  it.  I  hate  to 
disappoint  you  if  you're  set  on  it,  but  I've  got  to, 
kid.  Anything  else  you  want  I'll  be  glad  to  do." 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


He  added  this  last  because  Frank  looked  so  broken- 
hearted about  it. 

"Very  well."  Swift  as  a  flash  came  the  demand: 
"Tell  me  these  heaps  of  first-rate  reasons  you  were 
mentioning  just  now." 

Under  the  sun-tan  he  flushed.  "I  reckon  I'll  have 
to  make  another  exception,  Curly.  Those  reasons 
ain't  ripe  yet  for  telling." 

"Then  if  you  are — if  anything  happens — I'll  never 
know  them.  And  you  promised  you  would  tell  me 
— you,  who  pretend  to  hate  a  liar  so,"  she  scoffed. 

"Would  it  do  if  I  wrote  those  reasons  and  left 
them  in  a  sealed  envelope?  Then  in  case  anything 
happened  you  could  open  it  and  satisfy  that  robust 
curiosity  of  yours."  He  recognized  that  he  had 
trapped  himself,  and  he  was  making  the  best  bargain 
left  him. 

"You  may  write  them,  if  you  like.  But  I'm  go- 
ing to  open  the  letter,  anyway.  The  reasons  belong 
to  me  now.  You  promised." 

"I'll  make  a  new  deal  with  you,  then,"  he  smiled. 
"I'll  take  awful  good  care  of  myself  to-night  if 
you'll  promise  not  to  open  the  envelope  for  two 
weeks  unless — well,  unless  that  something  happens 
that  we  ain't  expecting." 

"Call  it  a  week,  and  it's  a  bargain." 

"Better  say  when  we're  back  across  the  line  again. 
That  may  be  inside  of  three  days,  if  everything  goes 
well,"  he  threw  in  as  a  bait. 

157 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"Done.  I'm  to  open  the  letter  when  we  cross  the 
line  into  Texas." 

Bucky  shook  the  little  hand  that  was  offered  him 
and  wished  mightily  that  he  had  the  right  to  cele- 
brate with  more  fervent  demonstrations. 

That  afternoon  the  ranger  wrote  with  a  good  deal 
of  labor  the  letter  he  had  promised.  It  appeared  to 
be  a  difficult  thing  for  him  to  deliver  himself  even 
on  paper  of  those  good  and  sufficient  reasons.  He 
made  and  destroyed  no  less  than  half  a  dozen  open- 
ings before  at  last  he  was  fairly  off.  Meanwhile, 
Master  Frank,  busy  over  some  alterations  in  Ducky's 
gypsy  suit,  took  pleasure  in  deriding  with  that  sweet 
voice  the  harassed  correspondent. 

"It  might  be  a  love  letter  from  the  pains  you  take 
with  it.  Would  you  like  me  to  come  and  help  you 
with  it?"  the  sewer  railed  merrily. 

"I  ain't  used  to  letter  writing  much,"  apologized 
the  scribe,  wiping  his  bedewed  brow,  which  had  sud- 
denly gone  a  shade  more  flushed. 

"Apparently  not.  I  expect,  from  the  time  you 
give  it,  the  result  will  be  a  literary  classic." 

"Don't  you  disturb  me,  Curly,  or  I'll  never  get 
done,"  implored  the  tortured  ranger. 

"You're  doing  well.  You've  only  been  an  hour 
and  a  half  on  six  lines,"  the  tormentor  mocked. 

Womanlike,  she  was  quite  at  her  ease,  since  he 
was  very  far  indeed  from  being  at  his.  Yet  she  had 
a  problem  of  her  own  she  was  trying  to  decide. 

158 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


Had  he  discovered,  after  all,  that  she  was  not  a 
boy,  and  had  his  reasons — the  ones  he  was  trying 
to  tell  in  that  disturbing  letter — anything  to  do  with 
th'at  discovery?  Such  a  theory  accounted  for  sev- 
eral things  she  had  noticed  in  him  of  late.  There 
was  an  added  respect  in  his  manner  for  her.  He 
never  now  invaded  the  room  recognized  as  hers 
without  a  specific  invitation,  nor  did  he  seem  any 
longer  to  chafe  at  the  little  personal  marks  of  fas- 
tidiousness that  had  at  first  appeared  to  annoy  him. 
To  be  sure,  he  ordered  her  about,  just  as  he  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  doing  at  first.  But  it  was  con- 
ceivable that  this  might  be  a  generous  blind  to  cover 
up  his  knowledge  of  her  sex. 

"How  do  you  spell  guessed — one  s  or  two?"  he 
presently  asked,  out  of  the  throes  of  composition. 

She  spelled  it,  and  added  demurely :  "Adore  has 
only  one  d." 

Bucky  laid  down  his  pen  and  pretended  to  glare 
at  him.  "You  young  rascal,  what  do  you  mean 
by  bothering  me  like  that  ?  Act  like  that,  you  young 
imp,  and  you'll  never  grow  up  to  be  a  gentleman." 

Their  gUnces  caught  and  held,  the  minds  of  each 
of  them  butly  over  that  last  prediction  of  his.  For 
one  long  instant  masks  were  off  and  both  were  try- 
ing to  find  an  answer  to  a  question  in  the  eyes  op- 
posite. Then  voluntarily  each  gaze  released  the 
other  in  a  confusion  of  sweet  shame.  For  the  beat- 
ing of  a  lash,  soul  had  looked  into  naked  soul,  all 
disguise  stripped  from  them.  She  knew  that  he 

159 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


knew.  Yet  in  that  instant  when  his  secret  was  sur- 
prised from  him  another  secret,  sweeter  than  the 
morning  song  of  birds,  sang  its  way  into  both  their 
hearts. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  HOLD-UP   OF   THE  M.    C.    P.    FLYER. 

Agua  Negra  is  twelve  miles  from  Chihuahua  as 
the  crow  flies,  but  if  one  goes  by  rail  one  twists 
round  thirty  sinuous  miles  of  rough  mountainous 
country  in  the  descent  from  the  pass  to  the  capital 
of  the  State.  The  ten  men  who  slipped  singly  or 
by  twos  out  of  the  city  in  the  darkness  that  evening 
and  met  at  the  rendezvous  of  the  Santa  Dolorosa 
mission  did  not  travel  by  rail  to  the  pass,  but  fol- 
lowed a  horseback  trail  which  was  not  more  than 
half  the  distance. 

At  the  mission  O'Halloran  and  his  friend  found 
gathered  half  a  dozen  Mexicans,  one  or  two  of  them 
tough  old  campaigners,  the  rest  young  fellows  eager 
for  the  excitement  of  their  first  active  service. 

"Is  Juan  Valdez  here  yet?"  asked  O'Halloran, 
peering  around  in  the  gloom. 

"Not  yet ;  nor  Manuel  Garcia,"  answered  a  young 
fellow. 

Bucky  was  introduced  to  those  present  under  the 
name  of  Alessandro  Perdoza,  and  presently  also  to 
the  two  missing  members  of  the  party  who  arrived 
together  a  few  moments  later.  Juan  Valdez  was  the 
son  of  the  candidate  who  was  opposing  the  re- 
election of  Megales,  and  Manuel  Garcia  was  his 

161 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


bosom  friend,  and  the  young  man  to  whom  his  sis- 
ter was  engaged.  They  were  both  excellent  types 
of  the  honorable  aristocratic  young  Mexican.  They 
were  lightly  built,  swarthy  young  men,  possessed  of 
that  perfect  grace  and  courtesy  which  can  be  found 
at  its  best  in  the  Spanish  races.  Gay,  handsome 
young  cavaliers  as  they  were,  filled  with  the  pride 
of  family,  Bucky  thought  them  almost  ideal  com- 
panions for  such  a  harebrained  adventure  as  this. 
The  ranger  was  a  social  democrat  to  the  marrow. 
He  had  breathed  in  with  the  Southwest  breezes  the 
conviction  that  every  man  must  stand  on  his  own 
bottom,  regardless  of  adventitious  circumstance,  but 
he  was  not  fool  enough  to  think  all  men  equal.  It 
had  been  his  experience  that  some  men,  by  grace  of 
the  strength  in  them,  were  born  to  be  masters  and 
others  by  their  weakness  to  be  servants.  He  knew 
that  the  best  any  civilization  can  offer  a  man  is  a 
chance.  Given  that,  it  is  up  to  every  man  to  find  his 
own  niche. 

But  though  he  had  no  sense  of  deference  to  what 
is  known  as  good  blood,  Bucky  had  too  much  horse 
sense  to  resent  the  careless,  half-indifferent  greet- 
ing which  these  two  young  sprouts  of  aristocracy 
bestowed  on  the  rest  of  the  party.  He  understood 
that  it  was  the  natural  product  of  their  education 
and  of  that  of  the  others. 

"Are  we  all  here?"  asked  Garcia. 

"All  here,"  returned  O'Halloran  briskly.  "Rod- 
rigo  will  guide  the  party.  I  ride  next  with  Sefior 

162 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


Garcia.  Perdoza  and  Senor  Valdez  will  bring  up 
the  rear.  Forward,  gentlemen,  and  may  the  Holy 
Virgin  bring  a  happy  termination  to  our  adventure." 
He  spoke  in  Mexican,  as  they  all  did,  though  for  the 
next  two  hours  conversation  was  largely  suspended, 
owing  to  the  difficulty  of  the  precipitous  trail  they 
were  following. 

Coming  to  a  bit  of  the  road  where  they  were 
able  to  ride  two  abreast,  O'Connor  made  comment 
on  the  smallness  of  their  number.  "O'Halloran 
must  have  a  good  deal  of  confidence  in  his  men. 
Forty  to  ten  is  rather  heavy  odds,  is  it  not,  senor?" 

"There  are  six  more  to  join  us  at  the  pass.  The 
wagons  have  gone  round  by  the  road  and  the  drivers 
will  assist  in  the  attack." 

"Of  course  it  is  all  in  the  surprise.  I  have  seen 
three  men  hold  up  a  train  with  five  hundred  people 
on  it.  Once  I  knew  a  gang  to  stick  up  a  treasure 
train  with  three  heavily  armed  guards  protecting 
the  gold.  They  got  them  right,  with  the  drop  on 
them,  and  it  was  good-by  to  the  mazuma." 

"Yes,  if  they  have  had  any  warning  or  if  our 
plans  slip  a  cog  anywhere  we  shall  be  repulsed  to  a 
certainty." 

By  the  light  of  a  moon  struggling  out  from  be- 
hind rolling  clouds  Bucky  read  eleven-thirty  on  his 
watch  when  the  party  reached  Agua  Negra.  It  was 
still  thirty  minutes  before  the  Flyer  was  due,  and 
O'Halloran  disposed  his  forces  with  explicit  direc- 
tions as  to  the  course  to  be  followed  by  each  de- 

163 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


tail.  Very  rapidly  he  sketched  his  orders  as  to  the 
present  disposition  of  the  wagons  and  the  groups  of 
attackers.  When  the  train  slowed  down  to  remove 
the  obstacles  they  placed  on  the  track,  Garcia  and 
another  young  man  were  to  command  parties  cover- 
ing the  train  from  both  sides,  while  Rodrigo  and 
one  of  the  drivers  were  to  cover  the  engineer  and 
the  fireman. 

O'Halloran  himself,  with  Bucky  and  young  Val- 
dez,  rode  rapidly  in  the  direction  of  the  approaching 
train.  At  Concho  the  engine  would  take  on  water 
for  the  last  stiff  climb  of  the  ascent,  and  here  he 
meant  to  board  the  train  unnoticed,  just  as  it  was 
pulling  out,  in  order  to  emphasize  the  surprise  at 
the  proper  moment  and  render  resistance  useless. 
If  the  troopers  were  all  together  in  the  car  next  the 
one  with  the  boxes  of  rifles,  he  calculated  that  they 
might  perhaps  be  taken  unawares  so  sharply  as  to 
render  bloodshed  unnecessary. 

Concho  was  two  miles  from  the  summit,  and 
when  the  three  men  galloped  down  to  the  little  sta- 
tion the  headlight  of  the  approaching  engine  was  al- 
ready visible.  They  tied  their  horses  in  the  mesquit 
and  lurked  in  the  thick  brush  until  the  engine  had 
taken  water  and  the  signal  for  the  start  was  given. 
Then  O'Halloran  and  Bucky  slipped  across  in  the 
darkness  to  the  train  and  swung  themselves  to  the 
platform  of  the  last  car.  To  Valdez,  very  much 
against  his  will,  had  fallen  the  task  of  taking  the 
horses  back  to  Agua  Negra.  Since  the  track  wound 

164 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


round  the  side  of  the  mountain  in  such  a  way  as  to 
cover  five  miles  in  making  the  summit  from  Concho, 
the  young  Mexican  had  ample  time  to  get  back  to 
the  scene  of  action  before  the  train  arrived. 

The  big  Irishman  and  Bucky  rested  quietly  in  the 
shadows  of  the  back  platform  for  some  time.  Then 
they  entered  the  last  car,  passed  through  it,  and  on 
to  the  next.  In  the  sleeper  they  met  the  conductor, 
but  O'Halloran  quietly  paid  their  fares  and  passed 
forward.  As  they  had  hoped,  the  whole  detail  of 
forty  men  were  in  a  special  car  next  to  the  one  con- 
taining the  arms  consigned  to  Michael  O'Halloran, 
importer  of  pianos. 

Lieutenant  Chaves,  in  charge  of  the  detail  sent  out 
to  see  that  the  rifles  reached  Governor  Megales  in- 
stead of  the  men  who  had  paid  for  them,  was  find- 
ing his  assignment  exceedingly  uninteresting. 
There  was  at  Chihuahua  a  certain  black-eyed  dona 
with  whom  he  had  expected  to  enjoy  a  pleasant 
evening's  flirtation.  It  was  confounded  luck  that 
it  had  fallen  to  him  to  take  charge  of  the  escort  for 
the  guns.  He  had  endured  in  consequence  an  un- 
pleasant day  of  dusty  travel  and  many  hours  of 
boredom  through  the  evening.  Now  he  was  cross 
and  sleepy,  which  latter  might  also  be  said  of  the 
soldiers  in  general. 

He  was  connected  with  a  certain  Arizona  outfit 
which  of  late  had  been  making  money  very  rapidly. 
If  one  more  coup  like  the  last  could  be  pulled  off 
safely  by  his  friend  Wolf  Leroy  he  would  resign 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


from  the  army  and  settle  down.  It  would  then  no 
longer  be  necessary  to  bore  himself  with  such  de- 
tails as  this. 

There  was,  of  course,  no  necessity  for  alertness 
in  his  present  assignment.  The  opposition  was 
scarcely  mad  enough  to  attempt  taking  the  guns 
from  forty  armed  men.  Chaves  devoutly  hoped 
they  would,  in  order  that  he  might  get  a  little  glory, 
at  least,  out  of  the  affair.  But  of  course  such  an  ex- 
pectation would  be  ridiculous.  No,  the  journey 
would  continue  to  be  humdrum  to  the  end,  he  was 
wearily  assured  of  that,  and  consequently  attempted 
to  steal  a  half  hour's  sleep  while  propped  against 
a  window  with  his  feet  in  the  seat  opposite. 

The  gallant  lieutenant  was  awakened  by  a  cessa- 
tion of  the  drumming  of  the  wheels.  Opening  his 
eyes,  he  saw  that  the  train  was  no  longer  in  motion. 
He  also  saw — and  his  consciousness  of  that  fact  was 
much  more  acute — the  rim  of  a  revolver  about  six 
inches  from  his  forehead.  Behind  the  revolver 
was  a  man,  a  young  Spanish  gypsy,  and  he  was  of- 
fering the  officer  very  good  advice. 

"Don't  move,  sir.  No  cause  for  being  uneasy. 
Just  sit  quiet  and  everything  will  be  serene.  No, 
I  wouldn't  reach  for  that  revolver,  if  I  were  you." 

Chaves  cast  a  hurried  eye  down  the  car,  and  at 
the  end  of  it  beheld  the  huge  Irishman,  O'Halloran, 
dominating  the  situation  with  a  pair  of  revolvers. 
Chaves'  lambs  were  ranged  on  either  side  of  the  car, 
their  hands  in  the  air.  Back  came  the  lieutenant's 

166 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


gaze  to  the  impassive  face  in  front  of  him.  Taken 
by  and  lar^e,  it  did  not  seem  an  auspicious  moment 
for  garnering  glory.  He  decided  to  take  the  advice 
bestowed  on  him. 

"Better  put  your  hands  up  and  vote  with  your 
men.  Then  you  won't  be  tempted  to  play  with  your 
gun  and  commit  suicide.  That's  right,  sir.  I'll  re- 
lieve you  of  it  if  you  don't  object." 

Since  the  lieutenant  had  no  objections  to  offer, 
the  smiling  gypsy  possessed  himself  of  the  revolver. 
At  the  same  instant  two  more  men  appeared  at  the 
end  of  the  car.  One  of  them  was  Juan  Valdez  and 
another  one  of  the  mule-skinners.  Simultaneously 
with  their  entrance  rang  out  a  most  disconcerting 
fusillade  of  small  arms  in  the  darkness  without. 
Megales'  military  band,  as  O'Halloran  had  face- 
tiously dubbed  them  to  the  ranger,  arrived  at  the 
impression  that  there  were  about  a  thousand  insur- 
gents encompassing  the  train.  Chaves  choked  with 
rage,  but  ine  rest  of  the  command  yielded  to  the 
situation  very  tranquilly,  with  no  desire  to  offer 
themselves  as  targets  to  this  crackling  explosion  of 
Colts.  Muy  bien!  After  all,  Valdez  was  a  better 
man  to  serve  than  the  fox  Megales. 

Swiftly  Valdez  and  the  wagon  driver  passed  down 
the  car  and  gathered  the  weapons  from  the  seats  of 
the  troopers.  Raising  a  window,  they  passed  them 
out  to  their  friends  outside.  Meanwhile,  the  sound 
of  an  axe  could  be  heard  battering  at  the  door  of  the 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


next  car,  and  presently  the  crash  of  splintering  wood 
announced  that  an  entrance  had  been  forced. 

"Breaking  furniture,  I  reckon,"  drawled  Bucky,  in 
English,  for  the  moment  forgetful  of  the  part 
was  playing.     "I  hope  they'll  be  all  right  careful  of  v 
them  pianos  and  not  mishandle  them  so  they'll  get 
out  of  tune." 

"So,  sefior,  you  are  American,"  said  Chaves,  in 
English,  with  a  sinister  smile. 

O'Connor  shrugged,  answering  in  Spanish:  "I 
am  Romany.  Who  shall  say  whether  American, 
or  Spanish,  or  Bohemian?  All  nations  call  to  me, 
but  none  claim  me,  sefior." 

The  lieutenant  continued  to  smile  his  meaning 
grin.  "Yet  you  are  American,"  he  persisted. 

"Oh,  as  you  please.  I  am  what  you  will,  lieu- 
tenant." 

"You  speak  the  English  like  a  native." 

"You  are  complimentary." 

Chaves  lifted  his  eyebrows.  "For  believing  that 
you  are  in  costume,  that  you  are  wearing  a  dis- 
guise, Mr.  American?" 

Bucky  laughed  outright,  and  offered  a  gay  re- 
tort. "Believe  me,  lieutenant,  I  am  no  more  dis- 
guised as  a  gypsy  than  you  are  as  a  soldier." 

The  Mexican  officer  flushed  with  anger  at  the 
suggestion  of  contempt  in  the  careless  voice.  His 
generalship  was  discredited.  He  had  been  outwitted 
and  made  to  yield  without  a  blow.  But  to  have  it 

168 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


flung  in  his  teeth  with  such  a  debonair  insolence 
threw  him  into  a  fury. 

"If  you  and  I  ever  meet  on  equal  terms,  senor, 
God  pity  you,"  he  ground  out  between  his  set  jaws. 

Bucky  bowed,  answering  the  furious  anger  in  the 
man's  face  as  much  as  his  words.  "I  shall  try  to 
be  careful  not  to  offer  myself  a  sheath  for  a  knife 
some  dark  night,"  he  scoffed. 

A  whistle  blew,  and  then  again.  The  revolver  of 
Bucky  rang  out  almost  on  the  same  instant  as  those 
of  O'Halloran.  Under  cover  of  the  smoke  they 
slipped  out  of  the  car  just  as  Rodrigo  leaped  down 
from  the  cab  of  the  engine.  Slowly  the  train  began 
to  back  down  the  incline  in  the  same  direction  from 
which  it  had  come.  The  orders  given  the  engineer 
were  to  move  back  at  a  snail's  pace  until  he  reached 
Concho  again.  There  he  was  to  remain  for  two 
hours.  That  Chaves  would  submit  to  this  O'Hal- 
loran did  not  for  a  moment  suspect. 

But  the  track  would  be  kept  obstructed  till  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  a  sufficient  guard  would 
wait  in  the  underbrush  to  see  that  the  right  of  way 
was  not  cleared.  In  the  meantime  the  wagons  would 
be  pushing  toward  Chihuahua  as  fast  as  they  could 
be  hurried,  and  the  rest  of  the  riders  would  guard 
them  till  they  separated  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town 
and  slipped  quietly  in.  In  order  to  forestall  any 
telegraphic  communication  between  Lieutenant 
Chaves  and  his  superiors  in  the  city,  the  wires  had 

169 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


been  cut.  On  the  face  of  it,  the  guns  seemed  to 
be  safe.  Only  one  thing  had  O'Halloran  forgotten. 
Eight  miles  across  the  hills  from  Concho  ran  the  line 
of  the  Chihuahua  Northern. 


170 


CHAPTER  XL 
"STONE  WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE." 

The  two  young  Spanish  aristocrats  rode  in  ad- 
vance of  the  convoy  on  the  return  trip,  while  O'Hal- 
loran  and  Bucky  brought  up  the  rear.  The  roads 
were  too  rough  to  permit  of  rapid  travel,  but  the 
teams  were  pushed  as  fast  as  it  could  safely  be  done 
in  the  dark.  It  was  necessary  to  get  into  the  city 
before  daybreak,  and  also  before  word  reached 
Megales  of  the  coup  his  enemies  had  made.  O'Hal- 
loran  calculated  that  this  could  be  done,  but  he  did 
not  want  to  run  his  margin  of  time  too  fine. 

"When  the  governor  finds  we  have  recaptured  the 
arms,  will  he  not  have  all  your  leaders  arrested  to- 
day and  thrown  into  the  prison  ?"  asked  the  ranger. 

"He  will — if  he  can  lay  hands  on  them.  But  he 
had  better  catch  his  hare  before  he  cooks  it.  I'm 
thinking  that  none  of  us  will  be  at  home  to-day 
when  his  men  come  with  a  polite  invitation  to  go 
along  with  them/' 

i  "Then  he'll  spend  all  day  strengthening  his  posi- 
tion. With  this  warning  he  will  be  a  fool  if  he 
can't  make  himself  secure  before  night,  when  the 
army  is  on  his  side." 

"Oh,  the  army  is  on  his  side,  is  it?  Now,  what 
would  you  say  if  most  of  the  officers  were  ready 

J7I 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


to  come  over  to  us  as  soon  as  we  declare  ourselves  ? 
And  ye  speak  of  strengthening  his  position.  The 
beauty  of  his  position,  me  lad,  from  our  point  of 
view,  is  that  he  doesn't  know  his  weak  places.  He'll 
be  the  most  ondeceived  man  in  the  State  when  the 
test  comes — unless  something  goes  wrong." 

"When  do  you  propose  to  attack  the  prison?" 

"To-night.  To-morrow  is  election  day,  and  we 
want  all  the  byes  we  can  on  hand  to  help  us  out." 

"Do  you  expect  to  throw  the  prison  doors  wide 
open — let  every  scoundrel  in  Chihuahua  loose  on 
the  public?" 

"We  couldn't  do  that,  since  half  of  them  are 
loose  already,"  retorted  O'Halloran  dryly.  "And 
as  for  the  rest — we  expect  to  make  a  selection,  me 
son,  to  weed  out  a  few  choice  ruffians  and  keep 
them  behind  the  bars.  But  if  ye  know  anything 
about  the  prisons  of  this  country,  you're  informed, 
sir,  that  half  the  poor  fellows  behind  bars  don't  be- 
long there  so  much  as  the  folk  that  put  them  there. 
I'm  Irish,  as  ye  are  yourself,  and  it's  me  instinct  to 
fight  for  the  under  dog.  Why  shouldn't  the  lads 
rotting  behind  those  walls  have  another  chance  at 
the  game?  By  the  mother  of  Moses!  they  shall,  if 
Mike  O'Halloran  has  anything  to  say  about  it." 

"You  ce'tainly  conduct  your  lawful  elections  in  a 
beautifully  lawless  way,"  grinned  the  ranger. 

"And  why  not?     Isn't  the  law  made  for  man?" 

"For  which  man — Megales  ?" 

"In  order  to  give  the  greatest  liberty  to  each  in- 
172 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


dividual  man.  But  here  comes  young  Valdez  riding 
back  as  if  he  were  in  a  bit  of  a  hurry." 

The  filibuster  rode  forward  and  talked  with  the 
young  man  for  a  few  minutes  in  a  low  voice.  When 
he  rejoined  Bucky  he  nodded  his  head  toward  the 
young  man,  who  was  again  headed  for  the  front  of 
the  column.  "There's  the  best  lad  in  the  State  of 
Chihuahua.  He's  a  Mexican,  all  right,  but  he  has 
as  much  sense  as  a  white  man.  He  doesn't  mix  is- 
sues. Now,  the  lad's  in  love  with  Carmencita  Me- 
gales,  the  prettiest  black-eyed  lass  in  Mexico,  and, 
by  the  same  token,  so  is  our  friend  Chaves,  who  just 
gave  us  the  guns  a  little  while  ago.  But  Valdez  is 
a  man  from  the  heel  of  him  to  the  head.  Miss 
Carmencita  has  her  nose  in  the  air  because  Juan 
doesn't  snuggle  up  to  ould  Megales  and  flatter  him 
the  same  way  young  Chaves  does.  So  the  lad  is 
persona  non  grata  at  court  with  the  lady,  and  that 
tin  soldier  who  gave  up  the  guns  without  a  blow 
gets  the  lady's  smiles.  But  it's  my  opinion  that,  for 
all  her  haughty  ways,  miss  would  rather  have  our 
honest  fighting  lad  than  a  roomful  of  the  imitation 
toy  kind." 

A  couple  of  miles  from  the  outskirts  of  the  city 
the  wagons  separated,  and  each  was  driven  to  the 
assigned  place  for  the  hiding  of  the  rifles  till  night. 
At  the  edge  of  the  town  Bucky  made  arrangements 
to  join  his  friend  again  at  the  monument  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  plaza  within  fifteen  minutes.  He  was  to 
bring  his  little  partner  with  him,  and  O'Halloran 

173 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


was  to  take  them  to  a  place  where  they  might  lie  in 
hiding  till  the  time  set  for  the  rising. 

"I  would  go  with  ye,  but  I  want  to  take  charge 
of  the  unloading.  Don't  lose  any  time,  lad,  for  as 
soon  as  Megales  learns  of  what  has  happened  his 
fellows  will  scour  the  town  for  every  mother's  son 
of  us.  Of  course  you  have  been  under  surveillance, 
and  it's  likely  he'll  try  to  bag  you  with  the  rest  of 
us.  It  was  a  great  piece  of  foolishness  me  forget- 
ting about  the  line  of  the  Chihuahua  Northern  and 
its  telegraph.  But  there's  a  chance  Chaves  has  for- 
got, too.  Anyway,  get  back  as  soon  as  you  can; 
after  we're  hidden,  it  will  be  like  looking  for  a 
needle  in  a  haystack  to  put  his  fat  finger  on  us." 

Bucky  went  singing  up  the  stairway  of  the  hotel 
to  his  room.  He  was  keen  to  get  back  to  his  little 
friend  after  the  hazards  of  the  night,  eager  to  see 
the  brown  eyes  light  up  with  joy  at  sight  of  him  and 
to  hear  the  soft  voice  with  the  trailing  inflection 
drawl  out  its  shy  questions.  So  he  took  the  stairs 
three  at  a  time,  with  a  song  on  his  lips  and  in  his 
heart. 

"'Tis  you  shall  reign,  shall  reign  alone, 

My   dark  Rosaleen ! 

My  own  Rosaleen! 

'Tis  you  shall  have  the  golden  throne, 
'Tis  you  shall   reign,  and   reign  alone, 

My  dark  Rosaleen!" 

O'Connor,  somewhat  out  of  breath,  was  hum- 
ming the  last  line  when  he  passed  through  the 
gypsy  apartments  and  opened  his  own  door,  to  meet 

174 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


one  of  the  surprises  of  his  life.  Yet  he  finished  the 
verse,  though  he  was  looking  down  the  barrels  of 
two  revolvers  in  the  hands  of  a  pair  of  troopers, 
and  though  Lieutenant  Chaves,  very  much  at  his 
ease,  sat  on  the  table  dangling  his  feet. 

Bucky's  sardonic  laughter  rang  out  gayly.  "I 
ce'tainly  didn't  expect  to  meet  you  here,  lieutenant. 
May  I  ask  if  you  have  wings  ?" 

"Not  exactly,  senor.  But  it  is  quite  possible  you 
may  have  before  twenty- four  hours,"  came  the  swift 
retort. 

"Interesting,  if  true,"  remarked  the  ranger  care- 
lessly, tossing  his  gloves  on  the  bed.  "And  may  I 
ask  to  what  I  am  indebted  for  the  pleasure  of  a 
visit  from  you?" 

"I  am  returning  your  call,  sir,  and  at  the  very 
earliest  opportunity.  I  assure  you  that  I  have  been 
in  the  city  less  than  ten  minutes,  Senor  whatever- 
you-choose-to-call-yourself.  My  promptness  I  leave 
you  to  admire." 

"Oh,  you're  prompt  enough,  lieutenant.  I  no- 
ticed that  when  you  handed  over  your  gun  to  me 
so  lamblike."  He  laughed  it  out  flippantly,  buoy- 
antly, though  it  was  on  his  mind  to  wonder  whether 
the  choleric  little  officer  might  not  kill  him  out  of 
hand  for  it. 

But  Chaves  merely  folded  his  arms  and  looked 
sternly  at  the  American  with  a  manner  very  theatri- 
cal. "Miguel,  disarm  the  prisoner,"  he  ordered. 

175 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"So  I'm  a  prisoner,"  mused  Bucky  aloud.  "And 
whyfor,  lieutenant?" 

"Stirring  up  insurrection  against  the  government. 
The  prisoner  will  not  talk,"  decreed  his  captor,  a 
frowning  gaze  attempting  to  quell  him. 

But  here  the  popinjay  officer  reckoned  without 
his  host,  for  that  gentleman  had  the  most  indomit- 
able eyes  in  Arizona.  It  was  not  necessary  for  him 
to  stiffen  his  will  to  meet  the  other's  attack.  His 
manner  was  still  lazy,  his  gaze  almost  insolent  in 
its  indolence,  but  somewhere  in  the  blue  eyes  was 
that  which  told  Chaves  he  was  his  master.  The 
Mexican  might  impotently  rebel — and  did ;  he  might 
feed  his  vanity  with  the  swiftness  of  his  revenge, 
but  in  his  heart  he  knew  that  the  moment  was  not 
his,  after  all,  or  that  it  was  his  at  least  with  no 
pleasure  unalloyed. 

"The  prisoner  will  not  talk,"  repeated  Bucky, 
with  drawling  mockery.  "Sure  he  will,  general. 
There's  several  things  he's  awful  curious  to  know. 
One  of  them  is  how  you  happen  to  be  Johnnie-on- 
the-spot  so  opportune." 

The  lieutenant's  dignity  melted  before  his  vanity. 
Having  so  excellent  a  chance  to  sun  the  latter,  he 
delivered  himself  of  an  oration.  After  all,  silent 
contempt  did  not  appear  to  be  the  best  weapon  to 
employ  with  this  impudent  fellow. 

"Sefior,  no  Chaves  ever  forgets  an  insult.  Last 
night  you,  a  common  American,  insulted  me  grossly 
— me,  Lieutenant  Ferdinand  Chaves,  me,  of  the 

176 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


bluest  Castilian  blood."  He  struck  himself  dra- 
matically on  the  breast.  "I  submit,  senor,  but  I 
vow  revenge.  I  promised  myself  to  spit  on  you,  to 
spit  on  your  Stars  and  Stripes,  the  flag  of  a  nation 
of  dirty  traders.  Ha!  I  do  so  now  in  spirit.  The 
hour  I  have  long'  for  is  come." 

Bucky  took  one  step  forward.  His  eyes  had 
grown  opaque  and  flinty.  "Take  care,  you  cur." 

Swiftly  Chaves  hurried  on  without  pressing  the 
point.  He  had  a  prophetic  vision  of  his  neck  in 
the  vise  grip  of  those  brown,  sinewy  hands,  and, 
though  his  men  would  afterward  kill  the  man,  small 
good  would  he  get  from  that  if  the  life  were  al- 
ready squeezed  out  of  him. 

"And  so  what  do  I  do?  I  think,  and  having 
thought  I  act  with  the  swiftness  of  a  Chaves.  How  ? 
I  ride  across  country.  I  seize  a  hand  car.  My  men 
pump  me  to  town  on  the  roadbed  of  the  Northern. 
I  telephone  to  the  hotels  and  find  where  Americans 
are  staying.  Then  I  come  here  like  the  wind,  arrest 
your  friend,  and  send  him  to  prison,  arrest  you  also 
and  send  you  to  the  gallows." 

"That's  real  kind  of  you,  general,"  replied  Bucky, 
in  irony  sportive.  "But  you  really  are  putting  your- 
self out  too  much  for  me.  I  reckon  I'll  not  trouble 
you  to  go  so  far.  By  the  way,  did  I  understand 
you  to  say  you  had  arrested  a  friend  of  mine?" 

Indifferently  he  flung  out  the  question,  if  his 
voice  were  index  of  his  feeling,  but  his  heart  was 
pumping  faster  than  it  normally  ought. 

177 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"He  is  in  prison,  where  you  will  shortly  join  him. 
Soldiers,  to  the  commandant  with  your  captive." 

If  Bucky  had  had  any  idea  of  attempting  escape, 
he  now  abandoned  it  at  once.  The  place  of  all 
places  where  he  most  ardently  desired  to  be  at  that 
moment  was  in  the  prison  with  his  little  comrade. 
His  desire  marched  with  that  of  Chaves  so  far,  and 
the  latter  could  not  hurry  him  there  too  fast  to  suit 
him. 

One  feature  of  the  situation  made  him  chuckle, 
and  that  was  this :  The  fiery  lieutenant,  intent  first 
of  all  on  his  revenge,  had  given  first  thought  to  the 
capture  of  the  man  who  had  made  mincemeat  of 
his  vanity  and  rendered  him  a  possible  subject  of 
ridicule  to  his  fellow  officers.  So  eager  had  he  been 
to  accomplish  this  that  he  had  failed  as  yet  to  notify 
his  superiors  of  what  had  happened,  with  the  result 
that  the  captured  guns  had  been  safely  smuggled  in 
and  hidden.  Bucky  thought  he  could  trust  O'Hallo- 
ran  to  see  that  he  did  not  stay  long  behind  bars  and 
bolts,  unless  indeed  the  game  went  against  that  san- 
guine and  most  cheerful  plotter.  In  which  event — « 
well,  that  was  a  contingency  that  would  certainly 
prove  embarrassing  to  the  ranger.  It  might  indeed 
turn  out  to  be  a  good  deal  more  than  embarrassing 
in  the  end.  The  thing  that  he  had  done  would  bear 
a  plain  name  if  the  Megales  faction  v:on  the  day — 
and  the  punishment  for  it  would  be  easy  to  guess. 
But  it  was  not  of  himself  that  O'Connor  was  think- 
ing. He  had  been  in  tight  places  before  and 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


squeezed  safely  out.  But  his  little  friend,  the  one 
he  loved  better  than  his  life,  must  somehow  be  ex- 
tricated, no  matter  how  the  cards  fell. 

The  ranger  was  taken  at  once  before  General 
Carlo,  the  ranking  army  officer  at  Chihuahua,  and, 
after  a  sharp  preliminary  examination,  was  com- 
mitted to  prison.  The  impression  that  O'Connor 
got  of  Carlo  was  not  a  reassuring  one.  The  man 
was  a  military  despot,  apparently,  and  a  stickler  for 
discipline.  He  had  a  hanging  face,  and,  in  the 
Yaqui  war,  had  won  the  nickname  of  "the  butcher" 
for  his  merciless  treatment  of  captured  natives.  If 
Bucky  were  to  get  the  same  short  shrift  as  they 
did — and  he  began  to  suspect  as  much  when  his  trial 
was  set  for  the  same  day  before  a  military  tribunal 
— it  was  time  for  him  to  be  setting  what  few 
worldly  affairs  he  had  in  order.  Technically,  Me- 
gales  had  a  legal  right  to  have  him  put  to  death, 
and  the  impression  lingered  with  Bucky  that  the  sly 
old  governor  would  be  likely  to  do  that  very  thing 
and  later  be  full  of  profuse  regrets  to  the  United 
States  Government  that  inadvertently  a  citizen  of 
the  great  republic  had  been  punished  by  mistake. 

Bucky  was  registered  and  receipted  for  at  the 
prison  office,  after  which  he  was  conducted  to  his 
cell.  The  corridors  dripped  as  he  followed  under- 
ground the  guide  who  led  the  way  with  a  flickering 
lantern.  It  was  a  gruesome  place  to  contemplate  as 
a  permanent  abode.  But  the  young  American  knew 

179 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


that  his  stay  here  would  be  short,  whether  the  ter- 
mination of  it  were  liberty  or  the  gallows. 

Reaching  the  end  of  a  narrow,  crooked  corridor 
that  sloped  downward,  the  turnkey  unlocked  a  pon- 
derous iron  door  with  a  huge  key,  and  one  of  the 
guard,  following  at  Bucky's  heels,  pushed  him  for- 
ward. He  fell  down  two  or  three  steps  and  came 
to  a  sprawling  heap  on  the  floor  of  the  cell. 

From  the  top  of  the  steps  canie  a  derisive  laugh 
as  the  door  swung  to  and  left  him  in  utter  dark- 
ness. 

Stiffly  the  ranger  got  to  his  knees  and  was  about 
to  rise  when  a  sound  stopped  him.  Something  was 
panting  in  deep  breaths  at  the  other  side  of  the  cell. 
A  shiver  of  terror  went  goose-quilling  down  O'Con- 
nor's back.  Had  they  locked  him  up  with  some 
wild  beast,  to  be  torn  to  pieces?  Or  was  this  the 
ghost  of  some  previous  occupant?  In  such  black- 
ness of  gloom  it  was  easy  to  believe,  or,  at  least, 
to  imagine  impossible  conceptions  that  the  light  of 
day  would  have  scattered  in  an  instant.  He  was 
afraid — afraid  to  the  marrow. 

And  then  out  of  the  darkness  came  a  small,  trem- 
^bling  voice:     "Are  you  a  prisoner,  too,  sir?" 

Bucky  wanted  to  shout  aloud  his  relief — and  his 
delight.  The  sheer  joy  of  his  laughter  told  him 
how  badly  he  had  been  frightened.  That  voice — 
were  he  sunk  in  twice  as  deep  and  dark  an  inferno 
— he  would  know  it  among  a  thousand.  He  groped 
his  way  forward  toward  it. 

180 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"Oh,  little  pardner,  I'm  plumb  tickled  to  death  you 
ain't  a  ghost/'  he  laughed. 

"It  is — Bucky?"  The  question  joyfully  answered 
itself. 

"Right  guess.     Bucky  it  is." 

He  had  hold  of  her  hands  by  this  time,  was  try- 
ing to  peer  down  into  the  happy  brown  eyes  he  knew 
were  scanning  him.  "I  can't  see  you  yet,  Curly 
Haid,  but  it's  sure  you,  I  reckon.  I'll  have  to  pass 
my  hand  over  your  face  the  way  a  blind  man  does," 
he  laughed,  and,  greatly  daring,  he  followed  his  own 
suggestion,  and  let  his  fingers  wander  across  her 
crisp,  thick  hair,  down  her  soft,  warm  cheeks,  and 
over  the  saucy  nose  and  laughing  mouth  he  had 
often  longed  to  kiss. 

Presently  she  drew  away  shyly,  but  the  lilt  of  hap- 
piness in  her  voice  told  him  she  was  not  offended. 
"I  can  see  you,  Bucky."  The  last  word  came  as 
usual,  with  that  sweet,  hesitating,  upward  inflection 
that  made  her  familiarity  wholly  intoxicating,  even 
while  the  comradeship  of  it  left  room  for  an  inter- 
pretation either  of  gay  mockery  or  something- 
deeper.  "Yes,  I  can  see  you.  That's  because  I  have 
been  here  longer  and  am  more  used  to  the  darkness. 
I  think  I've  been  here  about  a  year."  He  felt  her 
shudder.  "You  don't  know  how  glad  I  am  to  see 
you." 

"No  gladder  than  I  am  to  feel  you,"  he  answered 
gayly.  "It's  worth  the  price  of  admission  to  find 
you  here,  girl  o'  mine." 

181 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


He  had  forgotten  the  pretense  that  still  lay  be- 
tween them,  so  far  as  words  went  when  they  had 
last  parted.  Nor  did  it  yet  occur  to  him  that  he 
had  swept  aside  the  convention  of  her  being  a  boy. 
But  she  was  vividly  aware  of  it,  and  aware,  too,  of 
the  demand  his  last  words  had  made  for  a  recogni- 
tion of  the  relationship  that  existed  in  feeling  be- 
tween them. 

"I  knew  you  knew  I  was  a  girl,"  she  murmured. 

"You  knew  more  than  that,"  he  challenged  joy- 
fully. 

But,  in  woman's  way,  she  ignored  his  frontal  at- 
tack. He  was  going  at  too  impetuous  a  speed  for 
her  reluctance.  "How  long  have  you  know  that  I 
wasn't  a  boy — not  from  the  first,  surely?" 

"I  don't  know  why  I  didn't,  but  I  didn't.  I  was 
sure  locoed,"  he  confessed.  "It  was  when  you  came 
out  dressed  as  a  gypsy  that  I  knew.  That  explained 
to  me  a  heap  of  things  I  never  had  understood  be- 
fore about  you." 

"It  explained,  I  suppose,  why  I  never  had  licked 
the  stuffing  out  of  any  other  kid,  and  why  you  did 
not  get  very  far  in  making  a  man  out  of  me  as  you 
promised,"  she  mocked. 

"Yes,  and  it  explained  how  you  happened  to  say 
you  were  eighteen.  By  mistake  you  let  the  truth 
slip  out.  Course  I  wouldn't  believe  it." 

"I  remember  you  didn't.  I  think  you  conveyed 
the  impression  to  me  diplomatically  that  you  had 
doubts." 

182 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"I  said  it  was  a  lie,"  he  laughed.  "I  sure  do  owe 
you  a  heap  of  apologies  for  being  so  plumb  dog- 
matic when  you  knew  best.  You'll  have  to  sit  down 
on  me  hard  once  in  a  while,  or  there  won't  be  any 
living  with  me." 

Blushingly  she  did  some  more  ignoring.  "That 
was  the  first  time  you  threatened  to  give  me  a  whip- 
ping," she  recalled  aloud. 

"My  goodness !    Did  I  ever  talk  so  foolish  ?" 

"You  did,  and  meant  it." 

"But  somehow  I  never  did  it.  I  wonder  why  I 
didn't." 

"Perhaps  I  was  so  frail  you  were  afraid  you 
would  break  me." 

"No,  that  wasn't  it.  In  the  back  of  my  haid 
somewhere  there  was  an  instinct  that  said :  'Bucky, 
you  ckump,  if  you  don't  keep  your  hands  off  this 
kid  you'll  be  right  sorry  all  your  life/  Not  being 
given  to  many  ideas,  I  paid  a  heap  of  respect  to  that 
one." 

"Well,  it's  too  bad,  for  I  probably  needed  that 
whipping,  and  now  you'll  never  be  able  to  give  it 
to  me." 

"I  shan't  ever  want  to  now." 

Saucily  her  merry  eyes  shot  him  from  under  the 
long  lashes.  "I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  Girls  can 
be  mighty  aggravating." 

"That's  the  way  girls  are  meant  to  be,  I  expect," 
he  laughed.  "But  fifteen-year-old  boys  have  to  be 
herded  back  into  line.  There's  a  difference." 

183 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


She  rescued  her  hands  from  him  and  led  the  way 
to  a  bench  that  served  for  a  seat.  "Sit  down  here, 
sir.  There  are  one  or  two  things  that  I  have  to 
explain/'  She  sat  down  beside  him  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  bench. 

"This  light  is  so  dim,  I  can't  see  you  away  off 
there,"  he  pleaded,  moving  closer. 

"You  don't  need  to  see  me.  You  can  hear  me, 
can't  you?" 

"I  reckon." 

She  seemed  to  find  a  difficulty  in  beginning,  even 
though  the  darkness  helped  her  by  making  it  impos- 
sible for  him  to  see  her  embarrassment.  Presently 
he  chuckled  softly.  "No,  ma'am,  I  can't  even  hear 
you.  If  you're  talking,  I'll  have  to  come  closer." 

"If  you  do,  I'll  get  up.  I  want  you  to  be  really 
earnest." 

"I  never  was  more  earnest  in  my  life,  Curly 
Haid." 

"Please,  Bucky?  It  isn't  easy  to  say  it,  and  you 
mustn't  make  it  harder." 

"Do  you  have  to  say  it,  pardner?"  he  asked,  more 
seriously. 

"Yes,  I  have  to  say  it."  And  swiftly  she  blurted 
it  out.  "Why  do  you  suppose  I  came  with  you  to 
Mexico  ?" 

"I  don't  know."  He  grappled  with  her  sugges- 
tion for  a  moment.  "I  suppose — you  said  it  was  be- 
cause you  were  afraid  of  Hardman." 

"Well,  I  wasn't.    At  least,  I  wasn't  afraid  that 

184 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


much.  I  knew  that  I  would  have  been  quite  safe 
next  time  with  the  Mackenzies  at  the  ranch." 

"Then  why  was  it  ?" 

"You  can't  think  of  any  reason?"  She  leaned 
forward  and  looked  directly  into  his  eyes — eyes  as 
honest  and  as  blue  as  an  Arizona  sky. 

But  he  stood  unconvicted — nay,  acquitted.  The 
one  reason  she  had  dreaded  he  might  offer  to  him- 
self had  evidently  never  entered  his  head.  What- 
ever guesses  he  might  have  made  on  the  subject,  he 
was  plainly  guiltless  of  thinking  she  might  have 
come  with  him  because  she  was  in  love  with  him. 

"No,  I  can't  think  of  any  other  reason,  if  the  one 
you  gave  isn't  the  right  one." 

"Quite  sure?" 

"Quite  sure,  pardner." 

"Think!    Why  did  you  come  to  Chihuahua?" 

"To  run  down  Wolf  Leroy's  gang  and  to  get 
Dave  Henderson  out  of  prison." 

"Perhaps  there  is  a  reason  why  I  should  want 
him  out  of  prison,  a  better  reason  than  you  could 
possibly  have." 

"I  don't  savvy  it.  How  can  there  be  ?  You  don't 
know  him,  do  you?  He's  been  in  prison  almost 
ever  since  you  were  born."  And  on  top  of  his  last 
statement  Bucky's  eyes  began  to  open  with  a  new 

light.  "Good  heavens!  It  can't  be  possible 

You're  not  Webb  Mackenzie's  little  girl,  are  you?" 

She  did  not  answer  him  in  words,  but  from  her 

185 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


neck  she  slipped  a  chain  and  handed  it  to  him.  On 
the  chain  hung  a  locket. 

The  ranger  struck  a  match  and  examined  the 
trinket.  "It's  the  very  missing  locket.  See!  Here's 
the  other  one.  Compare  them  together."  He 
touched  the  spring  and  it  opened,  but  the  match  was 
burned  out  and  he  had  to  light  another.  "Here'? 
the  mine  map  that  has  been  lost  all  these  years. 
How  did  you  get  this  ?  Have  you  always  had  it  \ 
And  how  long  have  you  known  that  you  wertf 
Frances  Mackenzie?" 

His  questions  tumbled  out  one  upon  another  irt 
his  excitement. 

She  laughed,  answering  him  categorically.  "I 
don't  know,  for  sure.  Yes,  at  least  a  great  many 
years.  Less  than  a  week." 

"But— -I  don't  understand " 

"And  won't  until  you  give  me  a  chance  to  do 
some  of  the  talking,"  she  interrupted  dryly. 

"That's  right.  I  reckon  I  am  getting  off  left 
foot  first.  It's  your  powwow  now,"  he  conceded. 

"So  long  as  I  can  remember  exactly  I  have  always 
lived  with  the  man  Hardman  and  his  wife.  But  be- 
fore that  I  can  vaguely  recall  something  different. 
It  has  always  seemed  like  a  kind  of  fairyland,  for 
I  was  a  very  little  tot  then.  But  one  of  the  things 
I  seem  to  remember  was  a  sweet,  kind-eyed  mother 
and  a  big,  laughing  father.  Then,  too,  there  were 
horses  and  lots  of  cows.  That  is  about  all,  except 
that  the  chain  around  my  neck  seemed  to  have  some 

186 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


connection  with  my  early  life.  That's  why  I  always 
kept  it  very  carefully,  and,  after  one  of  the  lockets 
broke,  I  still  kept  it  and  the  funny-looking  paper  in- 
side of  it." 

"I  don't  understand  why  Hardman  didn't  take 
the  paper,"  he  interrupted. 

"I  suppose  he  did,  and  when  he  discovered  that 
it  held  only  half  the  secret  of  the  mine  he  probably 
put  it  back  in  the  locket.  I  see  you  have  the  other 
part." 

"It  was  lost  at  the  place  where  the  robbers  waited 
to  hold  up  the  T.  P.  Limited.  Probably  you  lost  it 
first  and  one  of  the  robbers  found  it." 

"Probably,"  she  said,  in  a  queer  voice. 

"That  was  the  first  clue  your  father  had  had  for 
many  years  about  his  little  girl.  He  happened  to 
be  at  Aravaipa  the  day  you  and  I  first  met.  I  guess 
he  took  a  fancy  to  me,  for  he  asked  me  to  take 
this  case  up  for  him  and  see  if  I  couldn't  locate 
you.  I  ran  Hardman  down  and  made  him  tell  me 
the  whole  story.  But  he  lied  about  some  of  it,  for 
he  told  me  you  were  dead." 

"He  is  a  born  liar,"  the  girl  commented.  "Well, 
to  get  on  with  my  story.  Anderson,  or  Hardman, 
as  he  now  calls  himself,  except  when  he  uses  his 
stage  name  of  Cavallado,  went  into  the  show  busi- 
ness and  took  me  with  him.  When  I  was  a  little  bit 
of  a  girl  he  used  to  use  me  for  all  sorts  of  things, 
such  as  a  target  for  his  knife  throwing  and  to  sell 
medicine  to  the  audience.  Lots  of  people  would 

187 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


buy  because  I  was  such  a  morsel  of  a  creature,  and 
I  suppose  he  found  me  a  drawing  card.  We  moved 
all  over  the  country  for  years.  I  hated  the  life. 
But  what  could  I  do  ?" 

"You  poor  little  lamb,"  murmured  the  man, 
"And  when  did  you  find  out  who  you  were?" 

"I  heard  you  talking  to  him  the  night  you  took 
him  back  to  Epitaph,  and  then  I  began  to  piece 
things  together.  You  remember  you  went  over  the 
whole  story  with  him  again  just  before  we  reached 
the  town." 

"And  you  knew  it  was  you  I  was  talking  about  ?" 

"I  didn't  know.  But  when  you  mentioned  the 
locket  and  the  map,  I  knew.  Then  it  seemed  to  me 
that  since  mis  man  Henderson  had  lost  so  many 
years  of  his  life  trying  to  save  me  I  must  do  some- 
thing for  him.  So  I  asked  you  to  take  me  with  you. 
I  had  been  a  boy  so  long  I  didn't  think  you  would 
know  the  difference,  and  you  did  not.  If  I  hadn't 
dressed  as  a  girl  that  time  you  would  not  know 
yet." 

"Maybe,  and  maybe  not,"  he  smiled.  "Point  is, 
I  do  know,  and  it  makes  a  heap  of  difference  to  me." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "I'm  more 
trouble  now." 

"That  ain't  it,"  he  was  beginning,  when  a  thought 
brought  him  up  short.  As  the  daughter  of  Webb 
Mackenzie  this  girl  was  no  longer  a  penniless  out- 
cast, but  the  heiress  of  one-half  interest  in  the  big 
Rocking  Chair  Ranch,  with  its  fifteen  thousand  head 

1 88 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


of  cattle.  As  the  first  he  had  a  perfect  right  to  love 
her  and  to  ask  her  to  marry  him,  but  as  the  latter 
— well,  that  was  quite  a  different  affair.  He  had 
not  a  cent  to  bless  himself  with  outside  of  his  little 
ranch  and  his  salary,  and,  though  he  might  not 
question  his  own  motives  under  such  circumstances, 
there  would  be  plenty  who  would  question  them  for 
him.  He  was  an  independent  young  man  as  one 
could  find  in  a  long  day's  ride,  and  his  pride  rose 
up  to  padlock  his  lips. 

She  looked  across  at  him  in  shy  surprise,  for 
all  the  eagerness  had  in  an  instant  been  sponged 
from  his  face.  With  a  hard,  impassive  countenance 
he  dropped  the  hand  he  had  seized  and  turned  away. 

"You  were  saying "  she  suggested. 

"I  reckon  I've  forgot  what  it  was.  It  doesn't 
matter,  anyhow." 

She  was  hurt,  and  deeply.  It  was  all  very  well 
for  her  to  try  her  little  wiles  to  delay  him,  but  in 
her  heart  she  longed  to  hear  the  words  he  had  been 
about  to  say.  It  had  been  very  sweet  to  know  that 
this  brown,  handsome  son  of  Arizona  loved  her, 
very  restful  to  know  that  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life  she  could  trustfully  let  her  weakness  lean  on  the 
strength  of  another.  And,  more  than  either,  though 
she  sometimes  smilingly  pretended  to  deny  it  to  her- 
self, was  the  ultimate  fact  that  she  loved  him.  His 
voice  was  music  to  her,  his  presence  joy.  He  brought 
with  him  sunshine,  and  peace,  and  happiness. 

He  was  always  so  reliable,  so  little  the  victim  of 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


his  moods.  What  could  have  come  over  him  now 
to  change  him  in  that  swift  instant?  Was  she  to 
blame?  Had  she  unknowingly  been  at  fault?  Or 
was  there  something  in  her  story  that  had  chilled 
him?  It  was  characteristic  of  her  that  it  was  her- 
self she  doubted  and  not  him;  that  it  never  occurred 
to  her  that  her  hero  had  feet  of  clay  like  other 
men. 

She  felt  her  heart  begin  to  swell,  and  choked  back 
a  sob.  It  wrung  him  to  hear  the  little  breath  catch, 
but  he  was  a  man,  strong-willed  and  resolute. 
Though  he  dug  his  finger  nails  into  his  palms  till  the 
flesh  was  cut  he  would  not  give  way  to  his  de- 
sire. 

"You're  not  angry  at  me — Bucky?"  she  asked 
softly. 

"No,  I'm  not  angry  at  you."  His  voice  was  cold 
because  he  dared  not  trust  himself  to  let  his  tender- 
ness creep  into  it. 

"I  haven't  done  anything  that  I  ought  not  to? 
Perhaps  you  think  it  wasn't — wasn't  nice  to — to 
come  here  with  you." 

"I  don't  think  anything  of  the  kind,"  his  hard 
voice  answered.  "I  think  you're  a  prince,  if  you 
want  to  know." 

She  smiled  a  little  wanly,  trying  to  coax  him  back 
into  friendliness.  "Then  if  I'm  a  prince  you  must 
be  a  princess,"  she  teased. 

"I  meant  a  prince  of  good  fellows." 
190 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"Oh!"  She  could  be  stiff,  too,  if  it  came  to 
that. 

And  at  this  inopportune  moment  the  key  turned 
harshly  and  the  door  swung  open. 


19? 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A   CLEAN    WHITE   MAN'S   OPTION. 

The  light  of  a  lantern  coming  down  the  steps 
blinded  them  for  a  moment.  Behind  the  lantern 
peered  the  yellow  face  of  the  turnkey.  "Ho,  there, 
Americano!  They  want  you  up  above,"  the  man 
said.  "The  generals,  and  the  colonels,  and  the  cap- 
tains want  a  little  talk  with  you  before  they  hang 
you,  sefior." 

The  two  soldiers  behind  the  fellow  cackled  mer- 
rily at  his  wit,  and  the  encouraged  turnkey  tried 
again. 

"We  shall  trouble  you  but  a  little  time.  Only  a 
few  questions,  senor,  an  order,  and  then  poco 
tiempo,  after  a  short  walk  to  the  gallows — para- 
dise." 

"What — what  do  you  mean?"  gasped  the  girl 
whitely. 

"Never  mind,  mitchacho.  This  is  no  affair  of 
yours.  Your  turn  will  come  later.  Have  no  fear, 
of  that,"  nodded  the  wrinkled  old  parchment  face. 

"But — but  he  hasn't  done  anything  wrong." 

"Ho,  ho!  Let  him  explain  that  to  the  generals 
and  the  colonels,"  croaked  the  old  fellow.  "And 
that  you  may  explain  the  sooner,  sefior,  hurry — let 
your  feet  fly!" 

192 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


Bucky  walked  across  to  the  girl  he  loved  and 
took  her  hands  in  his. 

"If  I  don't  come  back  before  three  hours  read 
the  letter  that  I  wrote  you  yesterday,  dear.  I  have 
left  matches  on  thdt  bench  so  that  you  may  have  a 
light.  Be  brave,  pardner.  Don't  lose  your  nerve, 
whatever  you  do.  We'll  both  get  out  of  this  all 
right  yet." 

He  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  so  that  the  guards  might 
not  hear,  and  it  was  in  kind  that  she  answered. 

"I'm  afraid,  Bucky;  afraid  away  down  deep. 
You  don't  half  believe  yourself  what  you  say.  I 
can't  stand  it  to  be  here  alone  and  not  know  what's 
going  on.  They  might  be — be  doing  what  that 
man  said,  and  I  not  know  anything  about  it  til? 
afterward/'  She  broke  down  and  began  to  sob. 
"Oh,  I  know  I'm  a  dreadful  little  coward,  but  I 
can't  be  like  you — and  you  heard  what  he  said." 

"Sho !  What  he  says  is  nothing.  I'm  an  Amer- 
ican citizen,  and  I  reckon  that  will  carry  us  through 
all  right.  Uncle  Sam  has  awful  long  arms,  and 
these  greasers  know  it.  I'm  expecting  to  come  back 
here  again,  little  pardner.  But  if  I  don't  make  it, 
I  want  you,  just  as  soon  as  they  turn  you  loose,  to , 
go  straight  to  your  father's  ranch." 

"Come !  This  won't  do.  Look  alive,  sefior,"  the 
turnkey  ordered,  and  to  emphasize  his  words  reached 
a  hand  forward  to  pluck  away  the  sobbing  lad. 
Bucky  caught  his  wrist  and  tightened  on  it  like  a 
vise.  "Hands  off,  here!"  he  commanded  quietly. 

193 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


The  man  gave  a  howl  of  pain  and  nursed  his  hand 
gingerly  after  it  was  released. 

"Oh,  Bucky,  make  him  let  me  go,  too,"  the  girl 
wailed,  clinging  to  his  coat. 

Gently  he  unfastened  her  fingers.  "You  know 
I  would  if  I  could,  Curly ;  but  it  isn't  my  say-so." 

And  with  that  he  was  gone.  Ashen-faced  she 
watched  him  go,  and  as  soon  as  the  door  had  closed 
groped  her  way  to  the  bench  and  sank  down  on  it, 
her  face  covered  with  her  hands.  He  was  going  to 
his  death.  Her  lover  was  going  to  his  death.  Why 
had  she  let  him  go  ?  Why  had  she  not  done  some- 
thing— thought  of  some  way  to  save  him? 

The  ranger's  guards  led  him  to  the  military 
headquarters  in  the  next  street  from  the  prison.  He 
observed  that  nearly  a  whole  company  of  Rurales 
formed  the  escort,  and  this  led  him  to  conclude  that 
the  government  party  was  very  uneasy  as  to  the  sit- 
uation and  had  taken  precautions  against  a  possible 
attempt  at  rescue.  But  no  such  attempt  was  made. 
The  sunny  streets  were  pretty  well  deserted,  except 
for  a  few  lounging  peons  hardly  interested  enough 
to  be  curious.  The  air  of  peace,  of  order,  sat  so 
congruously  over  the  plaza  that  Bucky's  heart  fell. 
Surely  this  was  the  last  place  on  earth  for  a  revolu- 
tion to  make  any  headway  of  consequence.  His 
friends  were  hidden  away  in  holes  and  cellars,  while 
Megales  dominated  the  situation  with  his  troops. 
To  expect  a  reversal  of  the  situation  was  surely 
madness. 

194 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


Yet  even  while  the  thought  was  in  his  mind  he 
caught  a  glimpse  in  a  doorway  of  a  man  he  recog- 
nized. It  was  Rodrigo,  one  of  his  allies  of  the 
previous  night's  escapade,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that 
the  man  was  trying  to  tell  him  something  with  his 
eyes.  If  so,  the  meaning  of  his  message  failed  to 
carry  home,  for  after  the  ranger  had  passed  he  dared 
not  look  back  again. 

So  far  as  the  trial  itself  went,  O'Connor  hoped 
for  nothing  and  was  the  less  disappointed.  One 
glance  at  his  judges  was  enough  to  convince  him 
of  the  futility  of  expectation.  He  was  tried  by  a 
court-martial  presided  over  by  General  Carlo.  Be- 
side him  sat  a  Colonel  Onate  and  Lieutenant  Chaves. 
In  none  of  the  three  did  he  find  any  room  for  hope. 
Carlo  was  a  hater  of  Americans  and  a  butcher  by 
temperament  and  choice,  Chaves  a  personal  enemy 
of  the  prisoner,  and  Onate  looked  as  grim  an  old 
scoundrel  as  Jeffreys  the  hanging  judge  of  James 
Stuart.  Governor  Megales,  though  not  technically 
a  member  of  the  court,  was  present,  and  took  an  ac- 
tive part  in  the  prosecution.  He  was  a  stout, 
swarthy  little  man,  with  black,  beady  eyes  that 
snapped  restlessly  to  and  fro,  and  from  his  manner- 
to  the  officers  in  charge  of  the  trial  it  was  plain 
that  he  was  a  despot  even  in  his  own  official  family. 

The  court  did  not  trouble  itself  with  forms  of  law. 
Chaves  was  both  principal  witness  and  judge,  not- 
withstanding the  protest  of  the  prisoner.  Yet  what 
the  lieutenant  had  to  offer  in  the  way  of  testimony 

195 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


was  so  tinctured  with  bitterness  that  it  must  have 
been  plain  to  the  veriest  novice  he  was  no  fit  judge 
of  the  case. 

But  Bucky  knew  as  well  as  the  judges  that  his 
trial  was  a  merely  perfunctory  formality.  The  ver- 
dict was  decided  ere  it  began,  and,  indeed,  so  eager 
was  Megales  to  get  the  farce  over  with  that  several 
times  fie  interrupted  the  proceedings  to  urge  haste. 

It  took  them  just  fifteen  minutes  from  the  time 
the  young  American  was  brought  into  the  room  to 
find  him  guilty  of  treason  and  to  decide  upon  im- 
mediate execution  as  the  fitting  punishment. 

General  Carlo  turned  to  the  prisoner.  "Have  you 
anything  to  say  before  I  pronounce  sentence  of  death 
upon  you?'* 

"I  have,"  answered  Bucky,  looking  him  straight 
in  the  eyes.  "I  am  an  American,  and  I  demand  the 
rights  of  a  citizen  of  the  United  States." 

"An  American?"  Incredulously  Megales  lifted 
his  eyebrows.  "You  are  a  Spanish  gypsy,  my 
friend." 

The  ranger  was  fairly  caught  in  his  own  trap. 
He  had  donned  the  gypsy  masquerade  because  he  did 
not  want  to  be  taken  for  what  he  was,  and  he 
had  succeeded  only  too  well.  He  had  played  into 
their  hands.  They  would,  of  course,  claim,  in  the 
event  of  trouble  with  the  United  States,  that  they 
had  supposed  him  to  be  what  his  costume  proclaimed 
him,  and  they  would  be  able  to  make  good  their 


196 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


pretense  with  a  very  decent  appearance  of  candor. 
What  an  idiot  of  sorts  he  had  been ! 

"We  understand  each  other  perfectly,  governor. 
I  know  and  you  know  that  I  am  an  American.  As 
a  citizen  of  the  United  States  I  claim  the  protection 
of  that  flag.  I  demand  that  you  will  send  immedi- 
ately for  the  United  States  consul  to  this  city." 

Megales  leaned  forward  with  a  thin,  cruel  smile 
on  his  face.  "Very  well,  senor.  Let  it  be  as  you 
say.  Your  friend,  Senor  O'Halloran,  is  the  United 
States  consul.  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  send  for  him 
if  you  can  tell  me  where  to  find  him.  Having  busi- 
ness with  him  to-day,  I  have  despatched  messengers 
who  have  been  unable  to  find  him  at  home.  But 
since  you  know  where  he  is,  and  are  in  need  of  him, 
perhaps  you  can  assist  me  with  information  of 
value." 

Again  Bucky  was  fairly  caught.  He  had  no  rea- 
son to  doubt  that  the  governor  spoke  truth  in  say- 
ing that  O'Halloran  was  the  United  States  consul. 
There  were  in  the  city  as  permanent  residents  not 
more  than  three  or  four  citizens  of  the  United 
States.  With  the  political  instinct  of  the  Irish,  it 
would  be  very  characteristic  of  O'Halloran  to  work.1 
Kis  "pull"  to  secure  for  himself  the  appointment. 
That  he  had  not  happened  to  mention  the  fact  to 
his  friend  could  be  accounted  for  by  reason  of  the 
fact  that  the  duties  of  the  office  at  that  place  were 
few  and  unimportant. 

197 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"We  are  waiting,  sefior.  If  you  will  tell  us 
where  we  may  send?"  hinted  Megales. 

"I  do  not  know  any  more  than  you  do,  if  he  is 
not  at  home." 

The  governor's  eyes  glittered.  "Take  carer 
sefior.  Better  'sharpen  your  memory." 

"It's  pretty  hard  to  remember  what  one  never 
knew,"  retorted  the  prisoner. 

The  Mexican  tyrant  brought  his  clinched  fist 
slowly  down  on  the  table  in  front  of  him.  "It  is 
necessary  to  remember,  sir.  It  is  necessary  to  an- 
swer a  few  questions.  If  you  answer  them  to  our 
satisfaction  you  may  yet  save  your  life." 

"Indeed!"  Bucky  swept  his  fat  bulk  scornfully 
from  head  to  foot.  "If  I  were  what  you  think  me, 
do  you  suppose  I  would  betray  my  friends?" 

"You  have  no  option,  sir.  Answer  my  questions, 
or  die  like  a  dog." 

"You  mean  that  you  would  not  think  you  had 
any  option  if  you  were  in  my  place,  but  since  I'm  a 
clean  white  man  there's  an  option.  By  God!  sir, 
it  doesn't  take  me  a  whole  lot  of  time  to  make  it, 
either.  I'll  see  you  rot  in  hell  before  I'll  play 
Judas." 

The  words  rang  like  a  bell  through  the  room,  not 
loud,  but  clear  and  vibrant.  There  was  a  long  in- 
stant's silence  after  the  American  finished  speaking, 
and  as  his  eyes  swept  from  one  to  another  of  the 
enemy  Bucky  met  with  a  surprise.  On  Colonel 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


Onate's  face  was  a  haggard  look  of  fear — surely 
it  was  fear — that  lifted  in  relief  at  the  young  man's 
brave  challenge.  He  had  been  dreading  something, 
and  the  dread  was  lifted.  Onate!  Onate!  The 
ranger's  memory  searched  the  past  few  days  to  lo-  , 
cate  the  name.  Had  O'Halloran  mentioned  it? 
Was  this  man  one  of  the  officers  expected  to  join 
the  opposition  when  it  declared  itself  against  Me- 
gales?  He  had  a  vague  recollection  of  the  name, 
and  he  could  have  heard  it  only  through  his  friend. 

"Was  Juan  Valdez  a  member  of  the  party  that 
took  the  rifles  from  Lieutenant  Chaves  and  his  es- 
cort?" 

Bucky  laughed  out  his  contempt. 

"Speak,  sir,"  broke  in  Chaves.  "Answer  the 
governor,  you  dog." 

"If  I  speak,  it  will  be  to  tell  you  what  a  cur  I 
think  you." 

Chaves  flushed  angrily  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  re- 
volver. "Who  are  you  that  play  dice  with  death, 
like  a  fool?" 

"My  name,  seh,  is  Bucky  O'Connor." 

At  the  words  a  certain  fear,  followed  by  a  look 
of  triumph,  passed  over  the  face  of  Chaves.  Iti 
was  as  if  he  had  had  an  unpleasant  shock  that  had 
instantly  proved  groundless.  Bucky  did  not  at  the 
time  understand  it.  ' 

"Why  don't  you  shoot?  It's  about  your  size, 
you  pinhead,  to  kill  an  unarmed  man." 

199 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"Tell  all  you  know  and  I  promise  you  your  life." 
It  was  Megales  who  spoke. 

"I'll   tell   you   nothing,   except  that   I'm  Bucky 

O'Connor,  of  the  Arizona  Rangers.     Chew  on  that 

a  while,  governor,  and  see  how  it  tastes.     Kill  me, 

jand  Uncle  Sam  is  liable  to  ask  mighty  loud  why- 

1  for;  not  because  I'm  such  a  mighty  big  toad  in  the 

puddle,  but  because  any  man  that  stands  under  that 

flag  has  back  of  him  the  biggest,  best,  and  gamest 

country  on  God's  green  footstool."     Bucky  spoke 

in  English  this  time,  straight  as  he  could  send  it. 

"In  that  case,  I  think  sentence  may  now  be  pro- 
nounced, general." 

"I  warn  you  that  the  United  States  will  exact 
Vengeance  for  my  death." 

"Indeed!"  Politely  the  governor  smiled  at  him 
with  a  malice  almost  devilish.  "If  so,  it  will  be 
after  you  are  dead,  Senor  Bucky  O'Connor,  of  the 
Arizona  Rangers." 

Colonel  Onate  leaned  forward  and  whispered 
something  to  General  Carlo,  who  shook  his  head 
and  frowned.  Presently  the  black  head  of  Chaves 
joined  them,  and  the  three  were  in  excited  discus- 
sion. Arms  waved  like  signals,  as  is  usual  among 
'the  Latin  races  who  talk  with  their  hands  and  ex- 
pressive shrugs  of  the  shoulders.  Outvoted  by 
two  to  one,  Onate  appealed  to  the  governor,  who 
came  up  and  listened,  frowning,  to  both  sides  of  the 
debate.  In  their  excitement  the  voices  raised,  and 
to  Bucky  came  snatches  of  phrases  that  told  him  his 

200 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


life  hung  in  the  balance.  Carlo  and  Chaves  were 
for  having  him  executed  out  of  hand,  at  latest,  by 
sunset.  The  latter  was  especially  vindictive.  In- 
deed, it  seemed  to  the  ranger  that  ever  since  he  had 
mentioned  his  name  this  man  had  set  himself  more 
malevolently  to  compass  his  death.  Onate  main- 
tained, on  the  other  hand,  that  their  prisoner  was 
worth  more  to  them  alive  than  dead.  There  was 
a  chance  that  he  might  weaken  before  morning  and 
tell  secrets.  At  worst  they  would  still  have  his 
life  as  a  card  to  hold  in  case  of  need  over  the  head 
of  the  rebels.  If  it  should  turn  out  that  this  was 
not  needed,  he  could  be  executed  in  the  morning 
as  well  as  to-night. 

It  may  be  conceived  with  what  anxiety  Bucky 
listened  to  the  whispered  conversation  and  waited 
for  the  decision  of  the  governor.  He  was  a  game 
man,  noted  even  in  a  country  famous  for  its  cour- 
ageous citizens,  but  he  felt  strangely  weak  now  as 
he  waited  with  that  leather-crusted  face  of  his  be- 
reft of  all  expression. 

"Give  him  till  morning  to  weaken.  If  he  still 
stays  obstinate,  hang  him  in  the  dawn/'  decided 
the  governor,  his  beady  eyes  fixed  on  the  prisoner. 

Not  a  flicker  of  the  eyelid  betrayed  the  Arizoni- 
an's  emotion,  but  for  an  instant  the  world  swam 
dizzily  before  him.  Safe  till  morning!  Before 
then  a  hundred  chances  might  change  the  current 
of  the  game  in  his  favor.  How  brightly  the  sun- 
shine flooded  the  room!  What  a  glorious  world  it 

20 1 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


was,  after  all!  Through  the  open  window  poured 
the  rich,  full-throated  song  of  a  meadow  lark,  and 
the  burden  of  its  blithe  song  was,  "How  good  is 
this  life  the  mere  living." 


202 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

BUCKY'S  FIRST-RATE  REASONS. 

How,  long  Frances  Mackenzie  gave  herself  up 
to  despair  she  never  knew,  but  when  at  last  she 
resolutely  took  herself  in  hand  it  seemed  hours 
later.  "Bucky  told  me  to  be  brave,  he  told  me  not 
to  lose  my  nerve,"  she  repeated  to  herself  over  and 
over  again,  drawing  comfort  from  the  memory  of 
his  warm,  vibrant  voice.  "He  said  he  would  come 
back,  and  he  hates  a  liar.  So,  of  course,  he  will 
come."  With  such  argument  she  tried  to  allay  her 
wild  fears. 

But  on  top  of  all  her  reassurances  would  come 
a  swift,  blinding  vision  of  gallant  Bucky  being  led 
to  his  death  that  crumpled  her  courage  as  a  ham- 
mer might  an  empty  egg  shell.  What  was  the  use 
of  her  pretending  all  was  well  when  at  that  very 
moment  they  might  be  murdering  him?  Then  in 
her  agony  she  would  pace  up  and  down,  wringing 
her  hands,  or  would  beat  them  on  the  stone  walls 
till  the  soft  flesh  was  bruised  and  bleeding. 

It  was  in  the  reaction,  after  one  of  these  par- 
oxysms of  despair,  that  in  her  groping  for  an  an- 
chor to  make  fast  her  courage  she  thought  of  his 
letter. 

"He  said  in  three  hours  I  was  to  read  it  if  he 
203 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


didn't  come  back.  It  must  be  more  than  three 
hours  now,"  she  said  aloud  to  herself,  and  knew  a 
fresh  dread  at  his  prolonged  absence  beyond  the 
limit  he  had  set. 

In  point  of  fact,  he  had  been  gone  less  than  three 
quarters  of  an  hour,  but  in  each  one  of  them  she 
had  lived  a  lifetime  of  pain  and  died  many  deaths. 

By  snatches  she  read  her  letter,  a  sentence  or  a 
fragment  of  a  sentence  at  a  time  as  the  light  served. 
Luckily  he  had  left  a  case  nearly  full  of  matches, 
and  one  after  another  of  them  dropped,  charred 
and  burned  out,  before  she  had  finished  reading. 
After  she  had  read  it,  her  first  love  letter,  she  must 
needs  go  over  it  again,  to  learn  by  heart  the  sweet 
phrases  in  which  he  had  wooed  her.  It  was  a 
commonplace  note  enough,  far  more  neutral  than 
the  strong,  virile  writer  who  had  lacked  the  cun- 
ning to  transmit  his  feeling  to  ink  and  paper.  But, 
after  all,  it  was  from  him,  and  it  told  the  divine 
message,  however  haltingly.  No  wonder  she 
burned  her  little  finger  tips  from  the  flame  of  the 
matches  creeping  nearer  unheeded.  No  wonder  she 
pressed  it  to  her  lips  in  the  darkness  and  dreamed 
her  happy  dream  in  those  few  moments  when  she 
was  lost  in  her  love  before  cruel  realities  pressed 
home  on  her  again. 

"I  told  you,  Little  Curly  Haid,  that  I  had  first- 
rate  reasons  for  not  wanting  to  be  killed  by  these 
Mexicans.  So  I  have,  the  best  reasons  going.  But 
they  are  not  ripe  to  tell  you,  and  so  I  write  them. 

204 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"I  guessed  your  secret,  little  pardner,  right  away 
when  I  seen  you  in  a  girl's  outfit.  If  I  hadn't  been 
blind  as  a  bat  I  would  have  guessed  it  long  since, 
for  all  the  time  my  feellings  were  telling  me  mighty 
loud  that  you  were  the  lovingest  little  kid  Bucky 
had  ever  come  across. 

"I'll  not  leave  you  to  guess  my  secret  the  way 
you  did  me  yours,  dear  Curly,  but  right  prompt  I'll 
set  down  adore  (with  one  D)  and  say  you  hit  the 
bull's-eye  that  time  without  expecting  to.  But  if 
I  was  saying  it  I  would  not  use  any  French  words, 
sweetheart,  but  plain  American.  And  the  word 
would  be  1-o-v-e,  without  any  D's.  Now  you  have 
got  the  straight  of  it,  my  dear.  I  love  you — love 
you — love  you,  from  the  crown  of  that  curly  head 
to  the  soles  of  your  little  feet.  What's  more,  you 
have  got  to  love  me,  too,  since  I  am, 
"Your  future  husband, 

"BUCKY  O'CONNOR/' 

"P.  S. — And  now,  Curly,  you  know  my  first- 
rate  reasons  for  not  meaning  to  get  shot  up  by  any 
of  these  Mexican  fellows.'' 

So  the  letter  ran,  and  it  went  to  her  heart  di- 
rectly as  rain  to  the  thirsty  roots  of  flowers.  He 
loved  her.  Whatever  happened,  she  would  always 
have  that  comfort.  They  might  kill  him,  but  they 
could  not  take  away  that.  The  words  of  an  old 
Scotch  song  that  Mrs.  Mackenzie  sang  came  back 
to  her : 

205 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"The  span  o'  life's  nae  lang  eneugh, 

Nor  deep  eneugh  the  sea, 
Nor  braid  eneugh  this  weary  warld, 

To  part  my  love  frae  me." 

No,  they  could  not  part  their  hearts  in  this  world 
or  the  next,  and  with  this  sad  comfort  she  flung 
herself  on  the  rough  bed  and  sobbed.  She  would 
grieve  still,  but  the  wildness  of  her  grief  and  de- 
spair was  gone,  scattered  by  the  knowledge  that 
however  their  troubles  eventuated  they  were  now 
one  in  heart. 

She  was  roused  after  a  long  time  by  the  sound 
of  the  huge  key  grating  in  the  lock.  Through  the 
opened  door  a  figure  descended,  and  by  an  illumi- 
nating swing  of  the  turnkey's  lantern  she  saw  that 
it  was  Bucky.  Next  moment  the  door  had  closed 
and  they  were  in  each  other's  arms.  Bucky's  stub- 
born pride,  the  remembrance  of  the  riches  which 
of  a  sudden  had  transformed  his  little  partner  into 
an  heiress  and  set  a  high  wall  of  separation  be- 
tween them,  these  were  swept  clean  away  on  a 
great  wave  of  love  which  took  Bucky  off  his  feet 
and  left  him  breathless. 

"I  had  almost  given  you  up,"  she  cried  joyfully. 

Again  he  passed  his  hand  across  her  face. 
"You've  been  crying,  little  pardner.  Were  you 
crying  on  account  of  me?" 

"On  account  of  myself,  because  I  was  afraid  I 
had  lost  you.  Oh,  Bucky,  isn't  it  too  good  to  be 
true?" 

The  ranger  smiled,  remembering  that  he  had 
206 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


about  fourteen  hours  to  live,  if  the  Megales  faction 
triumphed.  "Good!  I  should  think  it  is.  Bully! 
I've  been  famished  to  see  Curly  Raid  again." 

"And  to  know  that  everything  is  going  to  come 
out  all  right  and  that  we  love  each  other." 

"That's  right  good  hearing  and  most  ce'tainly 
true  on  my  side  of  it.  But  how  do  you  happen  to 
know  it  so  sure?"  he  laughed  gayly. 

"Why,  your  letter,  Bucky.  It  was  the  dearest 
letter.  I  love  it." 

"But  you  weren't  to  read  it  for  three  hours,"  he 
pretended  to  reprove,  holding  her  at  arm's  length 
to  laugh  at  her. 

"Wasn't  it  three  hours  ?  It  seemed  ever  so  much 
longer." 

"You  little  rogue,  you  didn't  play  fair."  And  to 
punish  her  he  drew  her  soft,  supple  body  to  him 
in  a  close  embrace,  and  for  the  first  time  kissed  the 
sweet  mouth  that  yielded  itself  to  him. 

"Tell  me  all  about  what  happened  to  you,"  she 
bade  him  playfully,  after  speech  was  again  in  order. 

"Sure."  He  caught  her  hand  to  lead  her  to  the 
bench  and  she  winced  involuntarily. 

"I  burned  it,"  she  explained,  adding,  with  a  rip- 
ple of  shy  laughter:  "When  I  was  reading  your 
letter.  It  doesn't  really  hurt,  though." 

But  he  had  to  see  for  himself  and  make  much 
over  the  little  blister  that  the  flame  of  a  match  re- 
vealed to  him.  For  they  were  both  very  much  in 
love,  and,  in  consequence,  bubbling  over  with  the 

207 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


foolishness  that  is  the  greatest  inherited  wisdom  of 
the  ages. 

But  though  her  lover  had  acquiesced  so  promptly 
to  her  demand  for  a  full  account  of  his  adventures 
since  leaving  her,  that  young  man  had  no  intention 
of  offering  an  unexpurged  edition  of  them.  It  was 
his  hope  that  O'Halloran  would  storm  the  prison 
during  the  night  and  effect  a  rescue.  If  so,  good; 
if  not,  there  was  no  need  of  her  knowing  that  for 
them  the  new  day  would  usher  in  fresh  sorrow. 
So  he  gave  her  an  account  of  his  trial  and  its  de- 
tails, told  her  how  he  had  been  convicted,  and  how 
Colonel  Onate  had  fought  warily  to  get  the  sen- 
tence of  execution  postponed  in  order  to  give  their 
friends  a  chance  to  rescue  them. 

"When  Megales  remanded  me  to  prison  I  wanted 
to  let  out  an  Arizona  yell,  Curly.  It  sure  seemed 
too  good  to  be  true." 

"But  he  may  want  the  sentence  carried  out  some 
time,  if  he  changes  his  mind.  Maybe  in  a  week  or 

two  he  may  take  a  notion  that "  She  stopped, 

plainly  sobered  by  the  fear  that  the  good  news  of 
his  return  might  not  be  final. 

"We  won't  cross  that  bridge  till  we  come  to  it. 
You  don't  suppose  our  friends  are  going  to  sit 
down  and  fold  their  hands,  do  you?  Not  if  I've 
got  Mike  O'Halloran  and  young  Valdez  sized  up 
right.  Fur  is  going  to  begin  to  fly  pretty  soon  in 
this  man's  country.  But  it's  up  to  us  to  help  all 

208 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


we  can,  and  I  reckon  we'll  begin  by  taking  a  pre- 
liminary survey  of  this  wickiup." 

Wickiup  was  distinctly  good,  since  the  word  is 
used  to  apply  to  a  frail  Indian  hut,  and  this  cell 
was  nothing  less  than  a  tomb  built  in  the  solid  rock 
by  blowing  out  a  chamber  with  dynamite  and  cov- 
ering the  front  with  a  solid  sheet  of  iron,  into  which 
a  door  fitted.  It  did  not  take  a  very  long  investiga- 
tion to  prove  to  Bucky  that  escape  was  impossible 
by  any  exit  except  the  door,  which  meant  the  same 
thing  as  impossible  at  all  under  present  conditions. 
Yet  he  did  not  yield  to  this  opinion  without  going 
over  every  inch  of  the  walls  many  times  to  make 
sure  that  no  secret  panel  opened  into  a  tunnel  from 
the  room. 

"I  reckon  they  want  to  keep  us,  Curly.  Mr.  Me- 
gales  has  sure  got  us  real  safe  this  time.  I'd  be 
plumb  discouraged  about  breaking  jail  out  of  this 
cage.  It's  ce'tainly  us  to  stay  hitched  a  while." 

About  dark  tortillas  and  frijoles  were  brought 
down  to  them  by  the  facetious  turnkey,  who  was 
accompanied  as  usual  by  two  guards. 

"Why  don't  my  little  birdies  sing?"  he  asked, 
with  a  wink  at  the  soldiers.  "One  of  them  will  not 
do  any  singing  after  daybreak  to-morrow.  Ho,  ho, 
my  larks!  Tune  up,  tune  up!" 

"What  do  you  mean  about  one  not  singing  after 
daybreak?"  asked  the  girl,  with  eyes  dilating. 

"What !  Hasn't  he  told  you  ?  Senor  the  ranger 
is  to  be  hanged  at  the  dawn  unless  he  finds  his 

209 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


tongue  for  Governor  Megales.  Ho,  ho!  Our 
birdie  must  speak  even  if  he  doesn't  sing."  And 
with  that  as  a  parting  shot  the  man  clanged  the 
door  to  after  him  and  locked  it. 

"You  never  told  me,  Bucky.  You  have  been 
trying  to  deceive  me,"  she  groaned. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "What  was  the  use, 
girlie?  I  knew  it  would  worry  you,  and  do  no 
good.  Better  let  you  sleep  in  peace,  I  thought." 

"While  you  kept  watch  alone  and  waited  through 
the  long  night.  Oh,  Bucky!"  She  crept  close  to 
him  and  put  her  arms  around  his  neck,  holding 
him  tight,  as  if  in  the  hope  that  she  could  keep 
him  against  the  untoward  fate  that  was  reaching 
for  him.  "Oh,  Bucky,  if  I  could  only  die  for 
you!" 

"Don't  give  up,  little  friend.  I  don't.  Some- 
how I'll  slip  out,  and  then  you'll  have  to  live  for 
me  and  not  die  for  me." 

"What  is  it  that  the  governor  wants  you  to  say 
that  you  won't?" 

"Oh,  he  wants  me  to  sell  our  friends.  I  told  him 
to  go  climb  a  giant  cactus." 

"Of  course  you  couldn't  do  that/*  she  sighed  re- 
gretfully. 

He  laughed.  "Well,  hardly,  and  call  myself  a 
white  man." 

"But "  She  blanched  at  the  alternative. 

"Oh,  Bucky,  we  must  do  something.  We  must — 


210 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"It  ain't  so  bad  as  it  looks,  honey.  You  want 
to  remember  that  Mike  O'Halloran  is  on  deck. 
What's  the  matter  with  him  knocking  out  a  home 
run  and  bringing  us  both  in.  I  put  a  heap  of  con- 
fidence in  that  red-haided  Irishman,"  he  answered 
cheerfully. 

"You  say  that  just  to — to  give  me  courage.  You 
don't  really  think  he  can  do  anything,"  she  said 
wanly. 

"That's  just  what  I  think,  Curly.  Some  men 
have  a  way  of  getting  things  done.  When  you  look 
at  O'Halloran  you  feel  this,  the  same  as  you  do 
when  you  look  at  Val  Collins.  Oh,  he'll  get  us  out 
all  right.  I've  been  in  seve-real  tighter  holes  than 
this  one."  His  mention  of  Collins  suggested  a  di- 
version, and  he  took  up  a  less  distressing  theme 
lightly.  "Wonder  what  Val  is  doing  at  this  pre- 
cise moment.  I'll  bet  he's  beginning  tc  make  things 
warm  for  Wolf  Leroy's  bunch  of  miscreants.  We'll 
have  the  robbers  of  the  Limited  behind  the  bars 
within  two  weeks  now,  or  I  miss  my  guess." 

He  had  succeeded  in  diverting  her  attention  bet- 
ter than  he  had  dared  to  hope.  Her  big  eyes  fixed 
on  his  much  as  if  he  had  raised  for  her  some  for- 
gotten spectre. 

"That's  another  thing  I  must  tell  you.  I  didn't 
think  to  before.  But  I  want  you  to  know  all  about 
me  now.  Don't  think  me  bad,  Bucky.  I'm  only  a 
girl.  I  couldn't  help  myself,"  she  pleaded. 

"What  is  it  you  have  done  that  is  so  awful?"  he 
211 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


smiled,  and  went  to  gather  her  into  his  arms. 

She  stayed  him  with  a  gesture  of  her  hand. 
"No,  not  yet.  Mebbe  after  you  know  you  won't 
want  to.  I  was  one  of  the  robbers  of  the  Limited." 

"You — what!"  he  exclaimed,  for  once  struck 
dumb  with  sheer  amazement. 

"Yes,  Bucky.  I  expect  you'll  hate  me  now. 
What  is  it  you  called  me — a  miscreant?  Well, 
that's  what  I  am." 

His  arms  slipped  round  her  as  she  began  to  sob, 
and  he  gentled  her  till  she  could  again  speak.  "Tell 
me  all  about  it,  little  Curly?"  he  said. 

"I  didn't  go  into  it  because  I  wanted  to.  My 
master  made  me.  I  don't  know  much  about  the 
others,  except  that  I  heard  the  names  they  called 
each  other." 

"Would  you  know  them  again  if  you  saw  them? 
But  of  course  you  would." 

"Yes.  But  that's  it,  Bucky.  I  hated  them  all, 
and  I  was  in  mortal  fear  all  the  time.  Still — I 
can't  betray  them.  They  thought  I  went  in  freely 
with  them — all  but  Hardman.  It  wouldn't  be  right 
for  me  to  tell  what  I  know.  I've  got  to  make  you 
see  that,  dear." 

"You'll  not  need  to  argue  that  with  me,  honey.  I 
see  it.  You  must  keep  quiet.  Don't  tell  anybody 
else  what  you've  told  me." 

"And  will  they  put  me  in  the  penitentiary  when 
the  rest  go  there?" 

212 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"Not  while  Bucky  O'Connor  is  alive  and  kick- 
ing," he  told  her  confidently. 

But  the  form  in  which  he  had  expressed  his  feel- 
ing was  unfortunate.  It  brought  them  back  to  the 
menace  of  their  situation.  Neither  of  them  could 
tell  how  long  he  would  be  alive  and  kicking.  She 
flung  herself  into  his  arms  and  wept  till  she  could 
weep  no  more. 


213 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
LE  ROI  EST  MORT;  VIVE  LE  ROI. 

When  the  news  reached  O'Halloran  that  Megales 
had  scored  on  the  opposition  by  arresting  Bucky 
O'Connor,  the  Irishman  swore  fluently  at  himself 
for  his  oversight  in  forgetting  the  Northern  Chi- 
huahua. So  far  as  the  success  of  the  insurgents 
went,  the  loss  of  the  ranger  was  a  matter  of  no  im- 
portance, since  O'Halloran  knew  well  that  nothing 
in  the  way  of  useful  information  could  be  cajoled 
or  threatened  out  of  him.  But,  personally,  it  was 
a  blow  to  the  filibuster,  because  he  knew  that  the 
governor  would  not  hesitate  to  execute  his  friend 
if  his  fancy  or  his  fears  ran  that  way,  and  the  big, 
red-headed  Celt  would  not  have  let  Bucky  go  to 
death  for  a  dozen  teapot  revolutions  if  he  could 
help  it. 

"And  do  you  think  you're  fit  to  run  even  a  do- 
nation party,  you  great,  blundering  gumph  ?"  Mike 
asked  himself,  in  disgust.  "You  a  conspirator! 
You  a  leader  of  a  revolution!  By  the  ghost  of 
Brian  Boru,  you  had  better  run  along  back  to  the 
kindergarten  class." 

But  he  was  not  the  man  to  let  grass  grow  un- 
der his  feet  while  he  hesitated  how  to  remedy  his 
mistake.  Immediately  he  got  in  touch  with  Valdez 

214 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


and  a  few  of  his  party,  and  decided  on  a  bold  coun- 
terstroke  that,  if  successful,  would  oppose  a  check- 
mate to  the  governor's  check  and  would  also  make 
unnecessary  the  unloosing  of  the  State  prisoners 
o-n  the  devoted  heads  of  the  people. 

"But  mind,  gentlemen,"  said  Juan  Valdez  plainly, 
"the  governor  must  not  be  injured  personally.  I 
shall  not  consent  to  any  violence,  no  matter  what  the 
issue.  Furthermore,  I  should  like  to  be  given  charge 
of  the  palace,  in  order  to  see  that  his  wants  are 
properly  provided  for.  We  cannot  afford  to  have 
our  movement  discredited  at  the  outset  by  unneces- 
sary bloodshed  or  by  any  wanton  outrages." 

O'Halloran  smothered  a  smile.  "Quite  right, 
sefior.  Success  at  all  hazards,  but,  if  possible,  suc- 
cess with  peace.  And,  faith,  subject  to  the  ap- 
proval of  the  rest  of  those  present,  I  do  hereby  ap- 
point you  keeper  of  the  governor's  person  and  his 
palace,  as  well  as  all  that  do  dwell  therein,  includ- 
ing his  man  servants,  his  maid  servants,  and  his 
daughter.  We  hold  you  personally  responsible  for 
their  safe  keeping.  See  that  none  of  them  cherish 
the  enemy  or  give  aid  and  comfort  to  them."  The 
Irishman  finished,  with  a  broad  smile  that  seemed 
to  say:  "Bedad,  there's  a  clear  field.  Go  in  and 
win,  me  bye." 

Nothing  could  be  done  in  broad  daylight,  while 
the  troops  of  the  government  party  patrolled  the 
streets  and  were  prepared  to  pounce  on  the  first 
suspects  that  poked  their  noses  out  of  the  holes 

215 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


where  they  were  hidden.  Nevertheless,  their  spies 
were  busy  all  day,  reporting  to  the  opposition  lead- 
ers everything  that  happened  of  interest.  In  the 
course  of  the  day  General  Valdez,  the  father  of 
Juan,  was  arrested  on  suspicion  of  complicity  and 
thrown  into  prison,  as  were  a  score  of  others 
thought  to  be  in  touch  with  the  Valdez  faction.  All 
day  the  troops  of  the  governor  were  fussily  busy, 
but  none  of  the  real  leaders  of  the  insurgents  was 
taken.  For  General  Valdez,  though  he  had  been  se- 
lected on  account  of  his  integrity  and  great  popu- 
larity to  succeed  Megales,  was  unaware  of  the  plot 
on  foot  to  retire  the  dictator  from  power. 

It  was  just  after  nightfall  that  a  farmer  drove 
into  Chihuahua  with  a  wagonload  of  alfalfa.  He 
was  halted  once  or  twice  by  guards  on  the  streets, 
but,  after  a  very  cursory  inspection,  was  allowed  to 
pass.  His  route  took  him  past  the  back  of  the  gov- 
ernor's palace,  an  impressive  stone  affair  sur- 
rounded by  beautiful  grounds.  Here  he  stopped, 
as  if  to  fasten  a  tug.  Out  of  the  hay  tumbled  fif- 
teen men  armed  with  rifles  and  revolvers,  all  of 
them  being  careful  to  leave  the  wagon  on  the  side 
farthest  from  the  palace. 

"Now,  me  lads,  we're  all  heroes  by  our  talk.  It's 
up  to  us  to  make  good.  I  can  promise  one  thing: 
by  this  time  to-morrow  we'll  all  be  live  patriots  or 
dead  traitors.  Which  shall  it  be?" 

O'Halloran's  concluding  question  was  a  merely 
rhetorical  one,  for  without  waiting  for  an  answer 

216 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


he  started  at  the  double  toward  the  palace,  taking 
advantage  of  the  dense  shrubbery  that  offered  cover 
up  to  the  last  twenty  yards.  This  last  was  cov- 
ered with  a  rush  so  rapid  that  the  guard  was  sur- 
prised into  a  surrender  without  a  protest 
f  Double  guard  was  on  duty  on  account  of  the 
strained  situation,  but  the  officer  in  charge,  having 
been  won  over  to  the  Valdez  side,  had  taken  care  to 
pick  them  with  much  pains.  As  a  consequence,  the 
insurgents  met  friends  in  place  of  enemies,  and 
within  three  minutes  controlled  fully  the  palace. 
Every  entrance  was  at  once  closed  and  guarded,  so 
that  no  news  of  the  reversal  could  reach  the  military 
barracks. 

So  silently  had  the  palace  been  taken  that,  ex- 
cept the  guards  and  one  or  two  servants  held  as 
prisoners,  not  even  those  living  within  it  were 
aware  of  anything  unusual. 

"Sefior  Valdez,  you  are  appointed  to  notify  the 
senorita  that  she  need  not  be  alarmed  at  what  has 
occurred.  Sefior  Garcia  will  act  as  captain  of  the 
day,  and  allow  nobody  to  leave  the  building  under 
any  pretext  whatever.  I  shall  personally  put  the 
tyrant  under  arrest.  Rodrigo  and  Jose  will  ac- 
company me." 

O'Halloran  left  his  subordinates  at  the  door  when 
he  entered  the  apartments  of  the  governor.  The 
outer  room  was  empty,  and  the  Irishman  passed 
through  it  to  the  inner  one,  where  Megales  was 
accustomed  to  take  his  after-dinner  siesta. 

217 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


To-night,  however,  that  gentleman  was  in  no 
mood  for  peaceful  reflection  followed  by  slum- 
ber. He  was  on  the  edge  of  a  volcano,  and  he 
knew  it.  The  question  was  whether  he  could  hold 
the  lid  on  without  an  eruption.  General  Valdez  he 
dared  not  openly  kill,  on  account  of  his  fame  and 
his  popularity,  but  that  pestilent  Irishman  O'Hallo- 
ran  could  be  assassinated  and  so  could  several  of 
his  allies — if  they  only  gave  him  time.  That  was 
the  rub.  The  general  dissatisfaction  at  his  rule  had 
been  no  secret,  of  course,  but  the  activity  of  the 
faction  opposing  him,  the  boldness  and  daring  with 
which  it  had  risked  all  to  overthrow  him,  had  come 
as  so  complete  a  surprise  that  he  had  been  unpre- 
pared to  meet  it.  Everywhere  to-night  his  guards 
covered  the  city,  ready  to  crush  rebellion  as  soon 
as  it  showed  its  head.  Carlo  was  in  personal  charge 
of  the  troops,  and  would  remain  so  until  after  the 
election  to-morrow,  at  w7hich  he  would  be  declared 
formally  reflected.  If  he  could  keep  his  hands  on 
the  reins  for  twenty-four  hours  more  the  worst 
would  be  past.  He  would  give  a  good  deal  to  know 
what  that  mad  Irishman,  O'Halloran,  was  doing 
just  now.  If  he  could  once  get  hold  of  him,  the 
opposition  would  collapse  like  a  house  of  cards. 

At  that  precise  moment  in  walked  the  mad  Irish- 
man pat  to  the  Mexican's  thought  of  him. 

"Buenos  noches,  excellency.  I  understand  you 
have  been  looking  for  me.  I  am,  seiior,  yours  to 

218 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


command."  The  big  Irishman  brought  his  heels 
together  and  gave  a  mocking  military  salute. 

The  governor's  first  thought  was  that  he  was  a 
victim  of  treachery,  his  second  that  he  was  a  dead 
man,  his  third  that  he  would  die  as  a  Spanish  gen- 
tleman ought.  He  was  pale  to  the  eyes,  but  he  lost 
no  whit  of  his  dignity. 

"You  have,  I  suppose,  taken  the  palace,"  he  said 
quietly. 

"As  a  loan,  excellency,  merely  as  a  loan.  After 
to-morrow  it  will  be  returned  you  in  the  event 
you  still  need  it,"  replied  O'Halloran  blandly. 

"You  expect  to  murder  me,  of  course?" 

The  big  Celt  looked  shocked.  "Not  at  all !  The 
bulletins  may  perhaps  have  to  report  you  accident- 
ally killed  or  a  victim  of  suicide.  Personally  I  hope 
not." 

"I  understand ;  but  before  this  lamentable  accident 
happens  I  beg  leave  to  assure  myself  that  the  palace 
really  is  in  your  hands,  senor.  A  mere  formality, 
of  course."  The  governor  smiled  his  thin-lipped 
smile  and  touched  a  bell  beside  him. 

Twice  Megales  pressed  the  electric  bell,  but  no 
orderly  appeared  in  answer  to  it.  He  bowed  to  the 
inevitable. 

"I  grant  you  victor,  Senor  O'Halloran.  Would 
it  render  your  victory  less  embarrassing  if  I  were 
to  give  you  material  immediately  for  that  bulletin 
on  suicide?"  He  asked  the  question  quite  without 

219 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


emotion,  as  courteously  as  if  he  were  proposing  a 
stroll  through  the  gardens. 

O'Halloran  had  never  liked  the  man.  The  Irish 
in  him  had  always  boiled  at  his  tyranny.  But  he 
had  never  disliked  him  so  little  as  at  this  moment. 
The  fellow  had  pluck,  and  that  was  one  certain 
passport  to  the  revolutionist's  favor. 

"On  the  contrary,  it  would  distress  me  exceed- 
ingly. Let  us  reserve  that  bulletin  as  a  regrettable 
possibility  in  the  event  that  less  drastic  measures 
fail." 

"Which  means,  I  infer,  that  you  have  need  of 
me  before  I  pass  by  the  Socratic  method,"  he  sug- 
gested, still  with  that  pale  smile  set  in  granite. 
"I  shall  depend  on  you  to  let  me  know  at  what 
precise  hour  you  would  like  to  order  an  epitaph 
written  for  me.  Say  the  word  at  your  conveni- 
ence, and  within  five  minutes  your  bulletin  con- 
cerning the  late  governor  will  have  the  merit  of 
truth." 

"Begad,  excellency,  I  like  your  spirit.  If  it's 
my  say-so,  you  will  live  to  be  a  hundred.  Come, 
the  cards  are  against  you.  Some  other  day  they 
piay  fall  more  pat  for  you.  But  the  jig's  up  now." 

"I  am  very  much  of  your  opinion,  sir,"  agreed 
Megales. 

"Then  why  not  make  terms?" 

"Such  as " 

"Your  life  and  your  friends'  lives  against  a 
graceful  capitulation." 

220 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"Our  lives  as  prisoners  or  as  free  men?" 

"The  utmost  freedom  compatible  with  the  cir- 
cumstances.    Your  friends  may  either  leave  or  re- 
main and  accept  the  new  order  of  things.     I  am 
i  afraid  it  will  be  necessary   for  you  and  General 
'  Carlo  to  leave  the  state  for  your  own  safety.     You 
have  both  many  enemies.'* 

"With  our  personal  possessions?" 

"Of  course.  Such  property  as  you  cannot  well 
take  may  be  left  in  the  hands  of  an  agent  and  dis- 
posed of  later." 

Megales  eyed  him  narrowly.  "Is  it  your  opinion, 
on  honor,  that  the  general  and  I  would  reach  the 
boundaries  of  the  State  without  being  assassi- 
nated?" 

"I  pledge  you  my  honor  and  that  of  Juan  Val- 
dez  that  you  will  be  safely  escorted  out  of  the  coun- 
try if  you  will  consent  to  a  disguise.  It  is  only 
fair  to  him  to  say  that  he  stands  strong  for  your 
life." 

"Then,  sir,  I  accept  your  terms  if  you  can  make 
it  plain  to  me  that  you  are  strong  enough  to  take 
the  city  against  General  Carlo." 
>  From  his  pocket  O'Halloran  drew  a  typewritten 
'list  and  handed  it  to  the  governor,  who  glanced  it 
over  with  interest. 

"These  army  officers  are  all  with  you?" 

"As  soon  as  the  word  is  given." 

"You  will  pardon  me  if  I  ask  for  proof?" 

"Certainly.     Choose   the  name  of   any  one  of 

221 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


them  you  like  and  send  for  him.  You  are  at  lib- 
erty to  ask  him  whether  he  is  pledged  to  us." 

The  governor  drew  a  pencil-mark  through  a 
name.  O'Halloran  clapped  his  hands  and  Rodrigo 
came  into  the  room. 

"Rodrigo,  the  governor  desires  you  to  carry  a 
message  to  Colonel  Onate.  He  is  writing  it  now. 
You  will  give  Colonel  Onate  my  compliments  and 
ask  him  to  make  as  much  haste  as  is  convenient." 

Megales  signed  and  sealed  the  note  he  was  writ- 
ing and  handed  it  to  O'Halloran,  who  in  turn 
passed  it  to  Rodrigo. 

"Colonel  Onate  should  be  here  in  fifteen  minutes 
at  the  farthest.  May  I  in  the  meantime  offer  you 
a  glass  of  wine,  Dictator  O'Halloran?"  At  the 
Irishman's  smile,  the  Mexican  governor  hastened 
to  add,  misunderstanding  him  purposely:  "Per- 
haps I  assume  too  much  in  taking  the  part  of  host 
here.  May  I  ask  whether  you  will  be  governor 
in  person  or  by  deputy,  sefior?" 

"You  do  me  too  much  honor,  excellency. 
Neither  in  person  nor  by  deputy,  I  fear.  And,  as 
for  the  glass  of  wine — with  all  my  heart.  Good 
liquor  is  always  in  order,  whether  for  a  funeral 
or  a  marriage." 

"Or  an  abdication,  you  might  add.  I  drink  to 
a  successful  reign,  Sefior  Dictator:  Le  roi  est 
mart;  vive  le  roil" 

The  Irishman  filled  a  second  glass.  "And  I 
222 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


drink  to  Governor  Megales,  a  brave  man.     May 
the  cards  fall  better  for  him  next  time  he  plays." 

The  governor  bowed  ironically.  "A  brave  man 
certainly,  and  you  might  add :  'Who  loses  his  stake 
without  striking  one  honest  blow  for  it.' ' 

"We  play  with  stacked  cards,  excellency.  Who 
can  forestall  the  treachery  of  trusted  associates?" 

"Sir,  your  apology  for  me  is  very  generous,  no 
less  so  than  the  terms  you  offer,"  returned  Megales 
sardonically. 

O'Halloran  laughed.  "Well,  if  you  don't  like  my 
explanations  I  shall  have  to  let  you  make  your  own. 
And,  by  the  way,  may  I  venture  on  a  delicate  per- 
sonal matter,  your  excellency?" 

"I  can  deny  you  nothing  to-night,  senor,"  an- 
swered Megales,  mocking  at  himself. 

"Young  Valdez  is  in  love  with  your  daughter. 
I  am  sure  that  she  is  fond  of  him,  but  she  is  very 
loyal  to  you  and  flouts  the  lad.  I  was  thinking,  sir, 
that " 

The  Spaniard's  eye  flashed,  but  his  answer  came 

suavely  as  he  interrupted:     "Don't  you  think  you 

had  better  leave  Senor  Valdez  and  me  to  arrange 

)our  own  family  affairs?     We  could  not  think  of 

,  troubling  you  to  attend  to  them." 

"He  is  a  good  lad  and  a  brave." 

Megales  bowed.  "Your  recommendation  goes 
a  long  way  with  me,  senor,  and,  in  truth,  I  have 
known  him  only  a  small  matter  of  twenty  years 
longer  than  you." 

223 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"Never  a  more  loyal  youngster  in  the  land." 

"You  think  so?  A  matter  of  definitions,  one 
may  suppose.  Loyal  to  the  authorized  government 
of  his  country,  or  to  the  rebels  who  would  illegally 
overthrow  it?" 

"Egad,  you  have  me  there,  excellency.  'Tis  a" 
question  of  point  of  view,  I'm  thinking.  But  you'll 
never  tell  me  the  lad  pretended  one  thing  and  did 
another.  I'll  never  believe  you  like  that  milksop 
Chaves  better." 

"Must  I  choose  either  a  fool  or  a  knave?" 

"I  doubt  it  will  be  no  choice  of  yours.  Juan 
Valdez  is  an  ill  man  to  deny  what  he  sets  his  heart 
on.  If  the  lady  is  willing " 

"I  shall  give  her  to  the  knave  and  wash  my  hands 
of  her.  Since  treason  thrives  she  may  at  last  come 
back  to  the  palace  as  its  mistress.  Quien  sabef 

"Less  likely  things  have  happened.  What  news, 
Rodrigo?"  This  last  to  the  messenger,  who  at 
that  moment  appeared  at  the  door. 

"Colonel  Onate  attends,  senor." 

"Show  him  in." 

Onate  was  plainly  puzzled  at  the  summons  to 
attend  the  governor,  and  mixed  with  his  perplexity 
was  a  very  evident  anxiety.  He  glanced  quickly 
at  O'Halloran  as  he  entered,  as  if  asking  for  gui- 
dance, and  then  as  questioningly  at  Megales.  Had 
the  Irishman  played  Judas  and  betrayed  them  all? 
Or  was  the  coup  already  played  with  success? 

"Colonel  Onate,  I  have  sent  for  you  at  the  re- 

22J. 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


quest  of  Governor  Megales  to  set  his  mind  at  rest 
on  a  disturbing  point.  His  health  is  failing  and 
he  considers  the  advisability  of  retiring  from  the 
active  cares  of  state.  I  have  assured  him  that  you, 
among  others,  would,  under  such  circumstances,  be 
in  a  friendly  relation  to  the  next  administration. 
Am  I  correct  in  so  assuring  him?" 

Megales  pierced  him  with  his  beady  eyes.  "In 
other  words,  Colonel  Onate,  are  you  one  of  the 
traitors  involved  in  this  rebellion?" 

"I  prefer  the  word  patriot,  senor,"  returned 
Onate,  flushing. 

"Indeed!  I  have  no  doubt  you  do.  I  am  an- 
swered," he  exclaimed  scornfully.  "And  what  is 
the  price  of  patriotism  these  days,  colonel?" 

"Sir!"     The  colonel  laid  his  hand  on  his  sword. 

"I  was  merely  curious  to  know  what  position 
you  would  hold  under  the  new  administration." 

O'Halloran  choked  a  laugh,  for  by  chance  the 
governor  had  hit  the  nail  on  the  head.  Onate  was 
to  be  Secretary  of  State  under  Valdez,  and  this 
was  the  bait  that  had  been  dangled  temptingly  under 
his  nose  to  induce  a  desertion  of  Megales. 

"If  you  mean  to  reflect  upon  my  honor  I  can  as- 
sure you  that  my  conscience  is  clear,"  answered 
Onate  blackly. 

"Indeed,  colonel,  I  do  not  doubt  it.  I  have  al- 
ways admired  your  conscience  and  its  adaptability." 
The  governor  turned  to  O'Halloran.  "I  am  satis- 
fied, Senor  Dictator.  If  you  will  permit  me " 

225 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


He  walked  to  his  desk,  unlocked  a  drawer,  and 
drew  forth  a  parchment,  which  he  tossed  across  to 
the  Irishman.  "It  is  my  commission  as  governor. 
Allow  me  to  place  it  in  your  hands  and  put  myself 
at  the  service  of  the  new  administration." 

"If  you  will  kindly  write  notes,  I  will  send  a 
messenger  to  General  Carlo  and  another  to  Colonel 
Gabilonda  requesting  their  attendance.  I  think  af- 
fairs may  be  quickly  arranged." 

"You  are  irresistible,  senor.     I  hasten  to  obey." 

Megales  sat  down  and  wrote  two  notes,  which 
he  turned  over  to  O'Halloran.  The  latter  read 
them,  saw  them  officially  sealed,  and  dispatched 
them  to  their  destinations. 

When  Gabilonda  was  announced,  General  Carlo 
followed  almost  at  his  heels.  The  latter  glanced  in 
surprise  at  O'Halloran. 

"Where  did  you  catch  him,  excellency  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  did  not  catch  him.  He  has  caught  me,  and, 
incidentally,  you,  general,"  answered  the  sardonic 
Megales. 

"In  short,  general,"  laughed  the  big  Irishman, 
"the  game  is  up." 

"But  the  army — • —  You  haven't  surrendered 
without  a  fight?" 

"That  is  precisely  what  I  have  done.  Cast  your 
eye  over  that  paper,  general,  and  then  tell  me  of 
what  use  the  army  would  be  to  us.  Half  the 
officers  are  with  the  enemy,  among  them  the 
patriotic  Colonel  Onate,  whom  you  see  present.  A 

226 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


resistance  would  be  futile,  and  would  only  result 
in  useless  bloodshed." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"   returned  Carlo  bluntly. 

"Seeing  is  believing,  general,"  returned  O'Hal- 
loran,  and  he  gave  a  little  nod  to  Onate. 

The  colonel  left  the  room,  and  two  or  three  min- 
utes later  a  bell  began  to  toll. 

"What  does  that  mean?"  asked  Carlo. 

"The  call  to  arms,  general.  It  means  that  the 
old  regime  is  at  an  end  in  Chihuahua.  Viva  Val- 
dez." 

"Not  without  a  struggle,"  cried  the  general,  rush- 
out  but  of  the  room. 

O'Halloran  laughed.  "I'm  afraid  he  will  not  be 
able  to  give  the  countersign  to  Garcia.  In  the 
meantime,  excellency,  pending  his  return,  I  would 
suggest  that  you  notify  Colonel  Gabilonda  to  turn 
over  the  prison  to  us  without  resistance." 

"You  hear  your  new  dictator,  colonel,"  said 
Megales. 

"Pardon  me,  your  excellency,  but  a  written  order 


"Would  relieve  you  of  responsibility.  So  it 
would.  I  write  once  more." 

He  was  interrupted  as  he  wrote  by  a  great  shout 
from  the  plaza.  "Viva  V aides!''  came  clearly 
across  the  night  air,  and  presently  another  that 
stole  the  color  from  the  cheek  of  Megales. 

"Death  to  the  tyrant!  Death  to  Megales!"  re- 
peated the  governor,  after  the  shouts  reached  them. 

227 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"I  fear,  Sefior  Dictator,  that  your  pledge  to  see 
me  across  the  frontier  will  not  avail  against  that 
mad-dog  mob."  He  smiled,  waving  an  airy  hand 
toward  the  window. 

The  Irishman  se.  '--is  bulldog  jaw.    "I'll  get  you 
4 out  safely  or,  begad!  I'll  go  down  fighting  with 
you." 

"I  think  we  are  likely  to  have  interesting  times, 
my  dear  dictator.  Be  sure  I  shall  watch  your  do- 
ings with  interest  so  long  as  your  friends  allow 
me  to  watch  anything  in  this  present  world."  The 
governor  turned  to  his  desk  and  continued  the  let- 
ter with  a  firm  hand.  "I  think  this  should  relieve 
you  of  responsibility,  colonel." 

By  this  time  General  Carlo  had  reentered  the 
room,  with  a  crestfallen  face. 

O'Halloran  had  been  thinking  rapidly.  "Gover- 
nor, I  think  the  safest  place  for  you  and  General 
Carlo,  for  a  day  or  two,  will  be  in  the  prison.  I 
intend  to  put  my  friend  O'Connor  in  charge  of  its 
defense,  with  a  trustworthy  command.  There  is 
no  need  of  word  reaching  the  mob  as  to  where  you 
are  hidden.  I  confess  the  quarters  will  be  nar- 
row, but " 

"No  narrower  than  those  we  shall  occupy  very 
soon  if  we  do  not  accept  your  suggestion,"  smiled 
Megales.  "Buenos!  Anything  to  escape  the  press- 
ing attentions  of  your  friends  outside.  I  ask  only 
one  favor,  the  loan  of  a  revolver,  in  order  that 

228 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


we  may  disappoint  the  mad  dogs  if  they  overpower 
the  guard  of  Senor  O'Connor." 

Hastily  O'Halloran  rapped  out  orders,  gathered 
together  a  little  force  of  five  men,  and  prepared 
to  start.  Both  Carlo  and  Megales  he  furnished 
with  revolvers,  that  they  might  put  an  end  to  their 
lives  in  case  the  worst  happened.  But  before  they 
had  started  Juan  Valdez  and  Carmencita  Megales 
came  running  toward  them. 

"Where  are  you  going?  It  is  too  late.  The 
palace  is  surrounded!"  cried  the  young  man. 
"Look!"  He  swept  an  excited  arm  toward  the 
window.  "There  are  thousands  and  thousands  of 
frenzied  people  calling  for  the  lives  of  the  governor 
and  General  Carlo." 

Carlo  shook  like  a  leaf,  but  Megales  only  smiled 
at  O'Halloran  his  wintry  smile.  "That  is  the 
trouble  in  keeping  a  mad  dog,  senor.  One  never 
knows  when  it  may  get  out  of  leash  and  bite  per- 
haps even  the  hand  that  feeds  it." 

Carmencita  flung  herself,  sobbing,  into  the  arms 
of  her  father  and  filled  the  palace  with  her  screams. 
Megales  handed  her  over  promptly  to  her  lover. 

"To  my  private  office,"  he  ordered  briskly. 
"Come,  general,  there  is  still  a  chance." 

O'Halloran  failed  to  see  it,  but  he  joined -the  lit- 
tle group  that  hurried  to  the  private  office.  Me- 
gales dragged  his  desk  from  the  corner  where  it 
set  and  touched  a  spring  that  opened  a  panel  in 
the  wall.  Carlo,  blanched  with  fear  at  the  threats 

229 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


and  curses  that  filled  the  night,  sprang  toward  the 
passageway  that  appeared. 

Megales  plucked  him  back.  "One  moment,  gen- 
eral. Ladies  first.  Carmencita,  enter." 

Carlo  followed  her,  after  him  the  governor,  and 
lastly  Gabilonda,  tearing  himself  from  a  whis- 
pered conversation  with  O'Halloran.  The  panel 
swung  closed  again,  and  Valdez  and  O'Halloran 
1  lifted  back  the  desk  just  as  Garcia  came  running 
in  to  say  that  the  mob  would  not  be  denied.  Im- 
mediately O'Halloran  threw  open  a  French  win- 
dow and  stepped  out  to  the  little  railed  porch  upon 
which  it  opened.  He  had  the  chance  of  his  life  to 
make  a  speech,  and  that  is  the  one  thing  that  no 
Irishman  can  resist.  He  flung  out  from  his  re- 
volver three  shots  in  rapid  succession  to  draw  the 
attention  of  the  mob  to  him.  In  this  he  succeeded 
beyond  his  hopes.  The  word  ran  like  wildfire  that 
the  mad  Irishman,  O'Halloran,  was  about  to  de- 
liver a  message  to  them,  and  from  all  sides  of  the 
building  they  poured  to  hear  it.  He  spoke  in  Mex- 
ican, rapidly,  his  great  bull  voice  reaching  to  the 
utmost  confines  of  the  crowd. 

"Fellow  lovers  of  liberty,  the  hour  has  struck 
that  we  have  worked  and  prayed  for.  The  glori- 
ous redemption  of  our  State  has  been  accomplished 
by  your  patriotic  hands.  An  hour  ago  the  tyrants, 
Megales  and  Carlo,  slipped  out  of  the  palace, 
mounted  swift  horses,  and  are  galloping  toward 
the  frontier." 

230 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


A  roar  of  rage,  such  as  a  tiger  disappointed  of 
its  kill  might  give,  rose  into  the  night.  Such  a  ter- 
rible cry  no  man  made  of  flesh  and  blood  could 
hear  directed  at  him  and  not  tremble. 

"But  the  pursuit  is  already  on.  Swift  riders  arej 
in  chase,  with  orders  not  to  spare  their  horses  so 
only  they  capture  the  fleeing  despots.  We  expect 
confidently  that  before  morning  the  tyrants  will  be 
in  our  hands.  In  the  meantime,  let  us  show  our- 
selves worthy  of  the  liberty  we  have  won.  Let  us 
neither  sack  nor  pillage,  but  show  our  great  presi- 
dent in  the  City  of  Mexico  that  not  ruffians  but  an 
outraged  people  have  driven  out  the  oppressors." 

The  huge  Celt  was  swimming  into  his  periods 
beautifully,  but  it  was  very  apparent  to  him  that 
the  mob  must  have  a  vent  for  its  stored  excite- 
ment. An  inspiration  seized  him. 

"But  one  sacred  duty  calls  to  us  from  heaven,  my 
fellow  citizens.  Already  I  see  in  your  glorious 
faces  that  you  behold  the  duty.  Then  forward, 
patriots!  To  the  plaza,  and  let  us  tear  down,  let 
us  destroy  by  fire,  let  us  annihilate  the  statue  of 
the  dastard  Megales  which  defaces  our  fair  city. 
Citizens,  to  your  patriotic  duty!" 

Another  wild  yell  rang  skyward,  and  at  once  the 
fringes  of  the  crowd  began  to  vanish  plazaward,  its 
centre  began  to  heave,  its  flanks  to  stir.  Three 
minutes  later  the  grounds  of  the  palace  were  again 
dark  and  empty.  The  Irishman's  oratory  had  won 
the  day. 

231 


CHAPTER  XV. 

IN    THE    SECRET    CHAMBER. 

The  escaping  party  groped  its  way  along  the 
passage  in  the  wall,  down  a  rough,  narrow  flight 
of  stone  steps  to  a  second  tunnel,  and  along  this 
underground  way  for  several  hundred  yards. 
Since  he  was  the  only  one  familiar  with  the  path 
they  were  traversing,  the  governor  took  the  lead 
and  guided  the  others.  At  a  distance  of  perhaps 
an  eighth  of  a  mile  from  the  palace  the  tunnel 
forked.  Without  hesitation,  Megales  kept  to  the 
right.  A  stone's  throw  beyond  this  point  of  di- 
vergence there  began  to  be  apparent  a  perceptible 
descent  which  terminated  in  a  stone  wall  that 
blocked  completely  the  way. 

Megales  reached  up  and  put  his  weight  on  a 
rope  suspended  from  the  roof.  Slowly  the  solid 
masonry  swung  on  a  pivot,  leaving  room  on  either 
side  for  a  person  to  squeeze  through.  The  gov- 
ernor found  it  a  tight  fit,  as  did  also  Gabilonda. 

"I  was  more  slender  last  time  I  passed  through 
there.  It  has  been  several  years  since  then,"  said 
the  governor,  giving  his  daughter  a  hand  to  assist 
her  through. 

They  found  themselves  in  a  small  chamber  fitted 
up  as  a  living  room  in  a  simple  way.  There  were 

232 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


three  plain  chairs,  a  bed,  a  table,  and  a  dresser,  as 
well  as  a  cooking  stove. 

"This  must  be  close  to  the  prison.  We  have 
been  coming  in  that  direction  all  the  time.  It  is 
strange  that  it  could  be  so  near  and  I  not  know 
of  it,"  said  the  warden,  looking  around  curiously. 

Megales  smiled.  "I  am  the  only  person  alive 
that  knew  of  the  existence  of  this  room  or  of  the 
secret  passage  until  half  an  hour  ago.  I  had  it 
built  a  few  years  since  by  Yaquis  when  I  was 
warden  of  the  prison.  The  other  end,  the  one 
opening  from  the  palace,  I  had  finished  after  I  be- 
came governor." 

"But  surely  the  men  who  built  it  know  of  its 
existence/' 

Again  Megales  smiled.  "I  thought  you  knew 
me  better,  Carlo.  The  Yaquis  who  built  this  were 
condemned  raiders.  I  postponed  their  execution  a 
few  months  while  they  were  working  on  this.  It 
was  a  convenience  both  to  them  and  to  me." 

"And  is  also  a  convenience  to  me,"  smiled  Carlo, 
who  was  beginning  to  recover  from  his  terror. 

"But  I  don't  quite  understand  yet  how  we  are 
«  to  get  out  of  here  except  by  going  back  the  way 
we  came,"  said  Gabilonda. 

"Which  for  some  of  us  might  prove  a  danger- 
ously unhealthy  journey.  True,  colonel,  and  there- 
fore one  to  be  avoided."  Megales  stepped  to  the 
wall,  spanned  with  his  fingers  a  space  from  the 
floor  above  a  joint  in  the  masonry,  and  pressed 

233 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


against  the  concrete.  Inch  by  inch  the  wall  fell 
back  and  opened  into  a  lower  corridor  of  the  prison, 
the  very  one  indeed  which  led  to  the  cell  in  which 
Bucky  and  his  love  were  imprisoned.  Cautiously 
the  Spaniard's  glance  traveled  down  the  passage  to 
see  it  was  empty  before  he  opened  the  panel  door 
more  than  enough  to  look  through.  Then  he  beck- 
oned to  Gabilonda.  "Behold,  doubting  Thomas !" 

The  warden  gasped.  "And  I  never  knew  it, 
never  had  a  suspicion  of  it." 

"But  this  only  brings  us  from  one  prison  to  an- 
other," objected  the  general.  "We  might  be  penned 
in  here  as  well  as  at  the  castle." 

"Even  that  contingency  has  been  provided  for. 
You  noticed,  perhaps,  where  the  tunnel  forked. 
The  left  branch  runs  down  to  the  river-wash,  and 
by  ten  minutes'  digging  with  the  tools  lying  there 
one  can  force  an  exit." 

"Your  excellency  is  certainly  a  wonder,  and  all 
this  done  without  arousing  the  least  suspicion  of 
anybody,"  admired  the  warden. 

"The  wise  man,  my  dear  colonel,  prepares  for 
emergencies;  the  fool  trusts  to  his  luck,"  replied 
the  governor  dryly. 

"Are  we  to  stay  here  for  the  present,  colonel?" 
broke  in  the  governor's  daughter.  "And  can  you 
furnish  accommodations  for  the  rest  of  us  if  we 
stay  all  night,  as  I  expect  we  must?" 

"My  dear  senorita,  I  have  accommodations  and 
to  spare.  But  the  trouble  is  that  your  presence 

234 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


would  become  known.  I  should  be  the  happiest 
man  alive  to  put  my  all  at  the  accommodation  of 
Chihuahua's  fairest  daughter.  But  if  it  should 

get  out  that  you  are  here "  Gabilonda  stopped 

to  shrug  his  fat  shoulders  at  the  prospect. 

"We  shall  have  to  stay  here,  or,  at  least,  in  the 
lower  tier  of  cells.  I'm  sorry,  Carmencita,  but 
there  is  no  other  course  compatible  with  safety," 
decided  Megales  promptly. 

The  warden's  face  cleared.  "That  is  really  not 
a  point  for  me  to  decide,  governor.  This  young 
American,  O'Connor,  is  now  in  charge  of  the 
prison.  I  must  release  him  at  once,  and  shall  then 
bring  him  here  to  confer  with  you  as  to  means  of 
safety." 

Bucky's  eyes  opened  wide  when  Gabilonda  and 
Megales  came  alone  and  without  a  lantern  to  his 
sell.  In  the  darkness  it  was  impossible  to  recog- 
nize them,  but  once  within  the  closed  cell  the  war- 
den produced  a  dark  lantern  from  under  his  coat. 

"Circumstances  have  arisen  that  make  the  utmost 
vigilance  necessary,"  explained  the  warden.  "I 
may  begin  my  explanations  by  congratulating  you 
and  your  young  friend.  Let  me  offer  a  thousand 
felicitations.  Neither  of  you  are  any  longer  pris- 


oners/1 


If  he  expected  either  of  them  to  fall  on  his  neck 
and  weep  tears  of  gratitude  at  his  pompous  an- 
nouncement, the  colonel  was  disappointed.  From 
the  darkness  where  the  ranger's  little  partner  sat 

235 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


on  the  bed  came  a  deep  sigh  of  relief,  but  O'Connor 
did  not  wink  an  eyelash. 

"I  may  conclude,  then,  that  Mike  O'Halloran  has 
been  getting  in  his  work?"  was  his  cool  reply. 

"Exactly,  senor.  He  is  the  man  on  horseback 
and  I  travel  afoot,"  smiled  Megales. 

Bucky  looked  him  over  coolly  from  head  to  foot. 
"Still  I  can't  quite  understand  why  your  ex-excel- 
lency does  me  the  honor  of  a  personal  visit." 

"Because,  senor,  in  the  course  of  human  events 
Providence  has  seen  fit  to  reverse  our  positions.  I 
am  now  your  prisoner  and  you  my  jailer,"  ex- 
plained Megales,  and  urbanely  added  a  whimsical 
question.  "Shall  you  have  me  hanged  at  dawn?" 

"It  would  be  a  pleasure,  and,  I  reckon,  a  duty 
too.  But  I  can't  promise  till  I've  seen  Mike.  Do 
some  more  explaining,  colonel.  I  want  to  know  all 
about  the  round-up  O'Halloran  is  boss  of.  Did  he 
make  a  right  good  gather?" 

The  subtleties  of  American  humor  baffled  the 
little  Mexican,  but  he  appreciated  the  main  drift 
of  the  ranger's  query,  and  narrated  with  much  ges- 
ticulation the  story  of  the  coup  that  O'Halloran 
had  pulled  off  in  capturing  the  government  leaders. 

"It  was  an  exceedingly  neat  piece  of  strategy," 
its  victim  admitted.  "I  would  give  a  good  deal  to 
have  the  privilege  of  hanging  your  red-headed 
friend,  but  since  that  is  denied  me,  I  must  be  grate- 
ful he  does  not  take  a  fancy  to  hang  me." 

236 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"In  case  he  doesn't,  your  excellency,"  was 
Bucky's  addendum. 

"I  understand  he  has  decided  to  deport  me,"  re- 
torted Megales  lightly.  "It  is  perhaps  better  poli- 
tics, on  the  whole,  better  even  than  a  knife  in  the 
back." 

"Unless  rumor  is  a  lying  jade,  you  should  be 
a  good  judge  of  that,  governor,"  said  the  Ameri- 
can, eying  him  sternly. 

Megales  shrugged.  "One  of  the  penalties  of 
fame  is  that  one  gets  credit  for  much  he  does  not 
deserve.  There  was  your  immortal  General  Lin- 
coln, a  wit  so  famous  in  your  country  that  every 
good  story  is  fathered  upon  him,  I  understand.  So 
with  your  humble  servant.  Let  a  man  accomplish 
his  vendetta  upon  the  body  of  an  enemy,  and  be- 
hold! the  world  cries:  'A  victim  of  Megales/  ' 

"Still,  if  you  deserve  your  reputation  as  much 
as  'our  immortal  General  Lincoln'  deserves  his,  the 
world  may  be  pardoned  for  an  occasional  error." 
O'Connor  turned  to  the  warden.  "What  does  he 
mean  by  saying  that  he  is  my  prisoner  ?  Have  you 
a  message  for  me  from  O'Halloran,  colonel?" 

"It  is  his  desire,  senor,  that,  pending  the  present 
uncertain  state  of  public  opinion,  you  accept  the 
command  of  the  prison  and  hold  safe  all  persons 
detained  here,  including  his  excellency  and  General 
Carlo.  He  desired  me  to  assure  you  that  as  soon 
as  is  possible  he  will  arrive  to  confer  with  you  in 
person." 

237 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"Good  enough,  and  are  you  a  prisoner,  too, 
colonel?" 

"I  did  not  so  understand  Senor  O'Halloran." 

"If  you're  not  you  have  to  earn  your  grub  and 
lodgings.  I'll  appoint  you  my  deputy,  colonel. 
And,  first  off,  my  orders  are  to  lock  up  his  ex- 
excellency  and  General  Carlo  in  this  cell  till  morn- 
ing." 

"The  cell,  Sefior  O'Connor,  is  damp  and  badly 
ventilated,"  protested  Gabilonda. 

"I  know  that  a  heap  better  than  you  do,  colo- 
nel," said  Bucky  dryly.  "But  if  it  was  good 
enough  for  me  and  my  pardner,  here,  I  reckon  it's 
good  enough  for  them.  Anyhow,  we'll  let  them 
try  it,  won't  we,  Frank?" 

"If  you  think  best,  Bucky." 

"You  bet  I  do." 

"And  what  about  the  governor's  daughter?" 
asked  Gabilonda. 

"You  don't  say!     Is  she  a  guest  of  this  tavern?" 

The  colonel  explained  how  they  had  reached  the 
prison  and  the  circumstances  that  had  led  to  their 
hurried  flight,  while  the  ranger  whistled  the  air 
of  a  cowboy  song,  his  mind  busy  with  this  new 
phase  of  the  case. 

"She's  one  of  these  here  Spanish  blue-blooded 
senoritas  used  to  guitar  serenades  under  her  win- 
dow. Now,  what  would  you  do  with  her  in  a  jail, 
Bucky?"  he  asked  himself,  in  humorous  dismay; 
but  even  as  he  reflected  on  it  his  roving  eye  fell  on 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


his  friend.  "The  very  thing.  I'll  take  Curly  Raid 
in  to  her  and  let  them  fall  in  love  with  each  other. 
You're  liable  to  be  some  busy,  Bucky,  and  shy  on 
leisure  to  entertain  a  lady,  let  alone  two." 

And  so  he  arranged  it.  Leaving  the  former  gov- 
ernor and  General  Carlo  in  the  cell  just  vacated  by 
them,  Frances  and  he  accompanied  Gabilonda  to 
the  secret  room  behind  the  corridor  wall. 

All  three  parties  to  the  introduction  that  followed 
acknowledged  secretly  to  a  surprise.  Miss  Carmen- 
cita  had  expected  the  friend  of  big,  rough,  homely 
O'Halloran  to  resemble  him  in  kind,  at  least.  In- 
stead, she  looked  on  a  bronzed  young  Apollo  of  the 
saddle  with  something  of  that  same  lithe  grace 
she  knew  and  loved  in  Juan  Valdez.  And  the  shy 
boy  beside  him — why,  the  darling  was  sweet  enough 
to  kiss.  The  big,  brown,  helpless  eyes,  the  blush- 
ing, soft  cheeks,  the  crop  of  thick,  light  curls  were 
details  of  an  extraordinarily  taking  picture.  Really, 
if  these  two  were  fair  specimens,  Americans  were 
not  so  bad,  after  all.  Which  conclusion  Juan  Val- 
dez's  fondness  for  that  race  may  have  helped  in 
^>art  to  form. 

But  if  the  young  Spanish  girl  found  a  little 
current  of  pleasure  in  her  surprise,  Bucky  and  his 
friend  were  aware  of  the  same  sensation.  All  the 
charm  of  her  race  seemed  summed  up  in  Car- 
mencita  Megales.  She  was  of  blue  blood,  every 
feature  and  motion  told  that.  The  fine,  easy  set 
of  her  head,  the  fire  in  the  dark,  heavy-lashed  eyes, 

239 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


the  sweep  of  dusky  chin  and  cheek  and  throat  cer- 
tified the  same  story.  She  had,  too,  that  coquet- 
tish hint  of  uncertainty,  that  charm  of  mystery 
so  fatal  in  its  lure  to  questing  man.  Even  physic- 
ally the  contradiction  of  sex  attracted.  Slender 
and  lissom  as  a  fawn,  she  was  yet  a  creature  of  ex- 
quisitely rounded  curves.  Were  her  eyes  brown  or 
black  or — in  the  sunlight — touched  with  a  gleam  of 
copper?  There  was  always  uncertainty.  But  much 
more  was  there  fire,  a  quality  that  seemed  to  flash 
out  from  her  inner  self.  She  was  a  child  of  whims, 
a  victim  of  her  moods.  Yet  in  her,  too,  was  a 
passionate  loyalty  that  made  fickleness  impossible. 
She  knew  how  to  love  and  how  to  hate,  and,  de- 
spite her  impulses,  was  capable  of  surrender  com- 
plete and  irrevocable. 

All  of  this  Bucky  did  not  read  in  that  first  mo- 
ment of  meeting,  but  the  shrewd  judgment  behind 
the  level  blue  eyes  came  to  an  appraisal  roughly 
just.  Before  she  had  spoken  three  sentences  he 
knew  she  had  all  her  sex's  reputed  capacity  for 
injustice  as  well  as  its  characteristic  flashes  of  gen- 
erosity. 

"Are  you  one  of  the  men  who  have  rebelled 
against  my  father  and  attempted  to  murder  him?" 
she  flashed. 

"I'm  the  man  he  condemned  to  be  hanged  to- 
morrow morning  at  dawn  for  helping  Juan  Valdez 
take  the  guns,"  retorted  Bucky,  with  a  laugh. 

"You  are  his  enemy,  and,  therefore,  mine." 
240 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"I'm  a  friend  of  Michael  O'Halloran,  who  stood 
between  him  and  the  mob  that  wanted  to  kill  him." 

"Who  first  plotted  against  him  and  seduced  his 
officers  to  betray  him,"  she  quickly  replied. 

"I  reckon,  ma'am,  we  better  agree  to  disagree  on 
politics,"  said  Bucky  good-naturedly.  "We're  sure 
liable  to  see  things  different  from  each  other.  Cas- 
tile and  Arizona  don't  look  at  things  with  the  same 
eyes." 

She  looked  at  him  just  then  with  very  beautiful 
and  scornful  ones,  at  any  rate.  "I  should  hope 
not." 

"You  see,  we're  living  in  the  twentieth  century 
up  in  the  sunburned  State,"  said  Bucky,  with  smil- 
ing aplomb. 

"Indeed!    And  we  poor  Chihuahuans ?" 

"When  I  see  the  ladies  I  think  you're  ce'tainly 
in  the  golden  age,  but  when  I  break  into  your  poli- 
tics, I'm  some  reminded  of  that  Richard  Third  fel- 
low in  the  Shakespeare  play." 

"Referring,  I  presume,  to  my  father?"  she  de- 
manded haughtily. 

"In  a  general  way,  but  eliminating  the  most  ob- 
jectionable points  of  the  king  fellow." 

"You're  very  kind."  She  interrupted  her  scorn 
to  ask  him  where  he  meant  her  to  sleep. 

He  glanced  over  the  room.  "This  might  do 
right  here,  if  we  had  that  bed  aired." 

"Do  you  expect  to  put  me  in  irons?" 

"Not  right  away.     Colonel,  I'll  ask  you  to  go 
241 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


to  the  office  and  notify  me  as  soon  as  Sefior  O'Hal- 
loran  arrives."  He  waited  till  the  colonel  had 
gone  before  adding:  "I'm  going  to  leave  this  boy 
with  you,  sefiorita,  for  a  while.  He'll  explain  some 
things  to  you  that  I  can't.  In  about  an  hour  I'll 
be  back,  perhaps  sooner.  So  long,  Curly.  Tell  the 
lady  your  secret."  And  with  that  Bucky  was  out 
of  the  room. 

"Your  secret,  child!    What  does  he  mean?" 

The  flame  of  color  that  swept  into  the  cheeks  of 
Frances,  the  appeal  in  the  shamed  eyes,  held  Car- 
mencita's  surprised  gaze.  Then  coolly  it  traveled 
over  the  girl  and  came  back  to  her  burning  face. 

"So  that's  it,  is  it?" 

But  the  scorn  in  her  voice  was  too  much  for 
Frances.  She  had  been  judged  and  condemned  in 
that  cool  stare,  and  all  the  woman  in  her  protested 
at  its  injustice. 

"No,  no,  no!"  she  cried,  running  forward  and 
catching  at  the  other's  hand.  "I'm  not  that.  You 
don't  understand." 

Coldly  Carmencita  disengaged  her  hand  and 
wiped  it  with  her  kerchief.  "I  understand  enough. 
Please  do  not  touch  me." 

"May  I  not  tell  you  my  story?" 

"I'll  not  trouble  you.     It  does  not  interest  me." 

"But  you  will  listen?"  implored  the  other. 

"I  must  ask  to  be  excused." 

"Then  you  are  a  heartless,  cruel  woman,"  flamed 
Frances.  "I'm  good — as  good  as  you  are."_  The 

242 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


color  patched  her  cheek  and  ebbed  again.  "I 
wouldn't  treat  a  dog  as  you  do  me.  Oh,  cruel, 
cruel!" 

The  surprising  extravagance  of  her  protest,  the 
despair  that  rang  in  the  fresh  young  voice,  caugh  t 
the  interest  of  the  Mexican  girl.  Surely  such  a 
heart-broken  cry  did  not  consist  with  guilt.  But 
the  facts — when  a  young  and  pretty  girl  mas- 
querades through  the  country  in  the  garb  of  a  boy 
with  a  handsome  young  man,  not  much  room  for 
doubt  is  left. 

Frances  was  quick  to  see  that  the  issue  was  re- 
opened. "Oh,  senorita,  it  isn't  as  you  think.  Do 

I  look  like "     She  broke  off  to  cover  with  her 

hands  a  face  in  which  the  pink  and  white  warred 
with  alternate  success.  "I  ought  not  to  have  come. 
I  ought  never  to  have  come.  I  see  that  now.  But 
I  didn't  think  he  would  know.  You  see,  I  had  al- 
ways passed  as  a  boy  when  I  wanted  to." 

"A  remarkably  pretty  one,  child,"  said  Miss  Car- 
mencita,  a  smile  dimpling  her  cheeks.  "But  how 
do  you  mean  that  you  had  passed  as  a  boy?" 

Frances  explained,  giving  a  rapid  sketch  of  her 
life  with  the  Hardmans  during  which  she  had  ap- 
peared every  night  on  the  stage  as  a  boy  without 
the  deception  being  suspected.  She  had  cultivated 
the  tricks  and  ways  of  boys,  had  tried  to  dress  to 
carry  out  the  impression,  and  had  always  succeeded 
until  she  had  made  the  mistake  of  putting  on  a 
gypsy  girl's  dress  a  couple  of  days  before. 

243 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


Carmencita  heard  her  out,  but  not  as  a  judge. 
Very  early  in  the  story  her  doubts  fled  and  she 
succumbed  to  the  mothering  instinct  in  her.  She 
took  the  American  girl  in  her  arms  and  laughed 
and  cried  with  her;  for  her  imagination  seized  on 
the  romance  of  the  story  and  delighted  in  its  fresh 
unconventionality.  Since  she  had  been  born  Car- 
mencita's  life  had  been  ordered  for  her  with  preci- 
sion by  the  laws  of  caste.  Her  environment 
wrapped  her  in  so  that  she  must  follow  a  set  and 
beaten  path.  It  was,  to  be  sure,  a  flower-strewn 
one,  but  often  she  impotently  rebelled  against  its 
very  orderliness.  And  here  in  her  arms  was  a  vic- 
tim of  that  adventurous  romance  she  had  always 
longed  so  passionately  to  know.  Was  it  wonder 
she  found  it  in  her  heart  to  both  love  and  envy  the 
subject  of  it? 

"And  this  young  cavalier — the  Senor  Bucky,  is 
it  you  call  him? — surely  you  love  him,  my  dear." 

"Oh,  senorita!"  The  blushing  face  was  buried 
on  her  new  friend's  shoulder.  "You  don't  know 
how  good  he  is." 

"Then  tell  me,"  smiled  the  other.  "And  call  me 
Carmencita." 

"He  is  so  brave,  and  patient,  and  good.  I  know 
there  was  never  a  man  like  him." 

Miss  Carmencita  thought  of  one  and  demurred 
silently.  "I'm  sure  this  paragon  of  lovers  is  at 
least  part  of  what  you  say.  Does  he  love  you? 
But  I  am  sure  he  couldn't  help  it." 

244 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"Sometimes  I  think  he  does,  but  once " 

Frances  broke  off  to  ask,  in  a  pink  flame:  "How 
does  a  lover  act?" 

Miss  Carmencita's  laughter  rippled  up.  "Gra- 
cious me,  have  you  never  had  one  before." 

"Never." 

"Well,  he  should  make  verses  to  you  and  pretty 
speeches.  He  should  sing  serenades  about  undying 
love  under  your  window.  Bonbons  should  bom- 
bard you,  roses  make  your  rooms  a  bower.  He 
should  be  ardent  as  Romeo,  devoted  as  a  knight  of 
old.  These  be  the  signs  of  a  true  love,"  she 
laughed. 

Frances'  face  fell.  If  these  were  the  tokens  of 
true  love,  her  ranger  was  none.  For  not  one  of  the 
symptoms  could  fairly  be  said  to  fit  him.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  she  had  given  him  what  he  did  not  want. 

"Must  he  do  all  that?  Must  he  make  verses?" 
she  asked  blankly,  not  being  able  to  associate  Bucky 
with  poetasting. 

"He  must,"  teased  her  tormentor,  running  a 
saucy  eye  over  her  boyish  garb.  "And  why  not 
with  so  fair  a  Rosalind  for  a  subject  ?"  She  broke 
off  to  quote  in  her  pretty,  uncertain  English,  ac- 
quired at  a  convent  in  the  United  States,  where  she. 
had  attended  school: 

"From  the  east  to  western  Ind, 

No  jewel  is  like  Rosalind. 

Her  worth,  being  mounted  on  the  wind, 

Through  all  the  world  bears  Rosalind. 

245 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


All  the  pictures,  fairest  lin'd, 
Are  but  black  to  Rosalind. 
Let  no  face  be  kept  in  mind 
But  the   fair  of  Rosalind." 

So  your  Shakespeare  has  it,  does  he  not  ?"  she  asked, 
reverting  again  to  the  Spanish  language,  in  which 
they  had  been  talking.  But  swift  on  the  heels  of 
her  raillery  came  repentance.  She  caught  the  dispir- 
ited girl  to  her  embrace  laughingly.  "No,  no,  child ! 
Nonsense  ripples  from  my  tongue.  These  follies 
are  but  for  a  carpet  lover.  You  shall  tell  me  more 
of  your  Sefior  Bucky  and  I  shall  make  no  sport 
of  it." 

When  Bucky  returned  at  the  expiration  of  the 
time  he  had  set  himself,  he  found  them  with  their 
arms  twined  about  each  other's  waists,  whispering 
the  confidences  that  every  girl  on  the  threshold  of 
womanhood  has  to  tell  her  dearest  friend. 

"I  reckon  you  like  my  pardner  better  than  you  do 
me/'  smiled  Bucky  to  Miss  Carmencita. 

"A  great  deal  better,  sir,  but  then  I  know  him 
better." 

Bucky's  eyes  rested  for  a  moment  almost  ten- 
derly on  Frances.  "I  reckon  he  is  better  worth 
knowing,"  he  said. 

"Indeed!  And  you  so  brave,  and  patient,  and 
good?"  she  mocked. 

"Oh!     Am  I  all  that?"  asked  Bucky  easily. 

"So  I  have  been  given  to  understand." 

Out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  O'Connor  caught  the 
embarrassed,  reproachful  look  that  Frances  gave 

246 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


her  audacious  friend,  and  he  found  it  easy  to  fit 
quotation  marks  round  the  admirable  qualities  that 
had  just  been  ascribed  to  him.  He  guessed  himself 
blushing  a  deux  with  his  little  friend,  and  also  di- 
vined Miss  Carmencita's  roguish  merriment  at  their 
confusion. 

"I  am  all  those  things  you  mentioned  and  a  heap 
more  you  forgot  to  say,"  claimed  the  ranger  boldly, 
to  relieve  the  situation.  "Only  I  didn't  know  for 
sure  that  folks  had  found  it  out.  My  mind's  a  heap 
easier  to  know  I'm  being  appreciated  proper  at  last.'* 

Under  her  long,  dark  lashes  Miss  Carmencita 
looked  at  him  in  gentle  derision.  "I'm  of  opinion, 
sir,  that  you  get  all  the  appreciation  that  is  good  for 
you." 

Bucky  carried  the  war  into  the  enemy's  country. 
"Which  same,  I  expect,  might  be  said  of  Chihua- 
hua's most  beautiful  belle.  And,  talking  of  Senor 
Valdez  reminds  me  that  I  owe  a  duty  to  his  father, 
who  is  confined  here.  I'll  be  saying  good  night, 
ladies." 

"It's  high  time,"  agreed  Miss  Megales.  "Talk- 
ing  of  Senor  Valdez,  indeed!" 

"Good  night,  Curly  Haid." 

"Good  night,  Bucky." 

To  which,  in  mocking  travesty,  added,  in  Eng- 
lish, Miss  Carmencita,  who  seemed  to  have  an  acute 
attack  of  Shakespeare: 

"Good  night,  good  night ;  parting  is  such  sweet  sorrow 
That  I  shall  say  good  night  till  it  be  morrow." 

247 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

JUAN  VALDEZ   SCORES. 

The  first  thing  Bucky  did  after  leaving  the  two 
young  women  was  to  go  down  in  person  with  one 
of  the  guards  to  the  cell  of  David  Henderson.  The 
occupant  of  the  cell  was  asleep,  but  he  woke  up 
when  the  two  men  entered. 

"Who  is  it?"  he  demanded. 

"Webb  Mackenzie's  man  come  to  release  you," 
answered  Bucky. 

The  prisoner  fell  to  trembling  like  an  aspen. 
"God,  man,  do  you  mean  it?"  he  begged.  "You 
wouldn't  deceive  an  old  man  who  has  lived  fifteen 
years  in  hell?" 

"It's  true,  friend,  every  word  of  it.  You'll  live 
to  ride  the  range  again  and  count  your  cattle  on  the 
free  hillside.  Come  with  me  up  to  the  office  and 
we'll  talk  more  of  it." 

"But  may  I?  Will  they  let  me?"  trembled  Hen- 
derson, fearful  lest  his  cup  of  joy  be  dashed  from 
him.  "I'm  not  dreaming,  am  I?  I'll  not  wake 
the  way  I  often  do  and  find  that  it  is  all  a  dream, 
will  I?"  He  caught  at  the  lapel  of  O'Connor's 
coat  and  searched  his  face. 

"No,  your  dreams  are  true  at  last,  Dave  Hender- 
son. Come,  old  friend,  take  a  drink  of  this  to 
steady  you.  It's  all  coming  out  right  now." 

248 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


Tears  streamed  down  the  face  of  the  man  res- 
cued from  a  living  grave.  He  dashed  them  away 
impatiently  with  a  shaking  hand.  "I  used  to  be  as 
game  as  other  men,  young  man,  and  now  you  see 
what  a  welling  I  am.  Don't  judge  me  too  hard. 
'Happiness  is  a  harder  thing  to  stand  than  pain  or 
grief.  They've  tried  to  break  my  spirit  many  a 
time  and  they  couldn't,  but  you've  done  it  now 
with  a  word." 

"You'll  be  all  right  as  soon  as  you  are  able  to  re- 
alize it.  I  don't  wonder  the  shock  unnerves  you. 
Have  you  anything  you  want  to  take  out  of  here 
with  you  before  you  leave  forever?" 

Pathetically  the  prisoner  looked  round  on  his  few 
belongings.  Some  of  them  had  become  endeared 
to  him  by  years  of  use  and  association,  but  they 
had  served  their  time.  "No,  I  want  to  forget  it  all. 
I  came  in  with  nothing.  I'll  take  out  nothing.  I 
want  to  blot  it  all  out  like  a  hideous  nightmare." 

Bucky  ordered  Colonel  Gabilonda  to  bring  up 
from  his  cell  General  Valdez  and  the  other  arrested 
suspects.  They  reached  the  office  at  the  same  time 
as  Mike  O'Halloran,  who  greeted  them  with  the 
good  news  that  the  day  was  won.  The  Megales 
faction  had  melted  into  mist,  and  all  over  the  city 
a  happy  people  was  shouting  for  Valdez. 

"I  congratulate  you,  general.  We  have  just  tele- 
graphed the  news  over  the  State  that  Megales  has 
resigned  and  fled.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  you 
will  be  elected  governor  to-morrow  and  that  the 

249 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


people's  party  will  win  the  day  with  an  unprece- 
dented vote.  Glory  be,  Chihuahua  is  at  last  free 
from  the  heel  of  tyranny.  Viva  V aide 2!  Viva 
Chihuahua  libre!" 

Bucky  at  once  introduced  to  General  Valdez  the 
Amercian  prisoner  who  had  suffered  so  long  and 
unjustly.  He  recited  the  story  of  the  abduction 
of  the  child,  of  Henderson's  pursuit,  of  the  killing 
of  the  trooper,  and  of  the  circumstantial  evidence 
that  implicated  the  Texan  and  upon  which  he  was 
convicted.  He  then  drew  from  his  pocket  a  signed 
and  attested  copy  of  the  confession  of  the  knife 
thrower  and  handed  it  to  the  general. 

Valdez  looked  it  over,  asked  an  incisive  question 
or  two  of  Bucky,  heard  from  Henderson  his  story, 
and,  after  a  few  moments'  discussion  of  the  mat- 
ter with  O'Halloran,  promised  a  free  pardon  as  his 
first  official  act  after  being  elected  to  the  governor- 
ship, in  case  he  should  be  chosen. 

The  vote  next  day  amply  justified  the  hopes  of 
O'Halloran  and  his  friends.  The  whole  ticket,  sent 
out  by  telegraph  and  messengers  throughout  the 
State,  was  triumphantly  elected  by  large  majorities. 
Only  in  one  or  two  out-of-the-way  places,  where 
the  news  of  the  fall  of  Megales  did  not  arrive  in 
time  to  affect  the  voting,  did  the  old  government 
party  make  any  showing  worthy  of  consideration. 

It  was  after  Valdez's  election  had  been  made  cer- 
tain by  the  returns  that  O'Halloran  and  Juan 
Valdez  posted  to  the  prison  and  visited  father 

250 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


and  daughter.  They  separated  in  the  lower  cor- 
ridor, one  to  visit  the  defeated  governor,  the 
other  Miss  Carmencita.  The  problem  before 
Juan  Valdez  was  to  induce  that  young  woman  to 
remain  in  Chihuahua  instead  of  accompanying  her 
father  in  his  flight.  He  was  a  good  fighter,  and  he 
meant  to  win,  if  it  were  a  possibility.  She  had 
tacitly  admitted  that  she  loved  him,  but  he  knew 
that  she  felt  that  loyalty  demanded  she  stay  by  her 
father  in  his  flight. 

When  O'Halloran  was  admitted  to  the  cell  where 
the  governor  and  the  general  were  staying  he 
laughed  aloud. 

"Faith,  gentlemen,  is  this  the  best  accommoda- 
tion Governor  Valdez  can  furnish  his  guests?  We 
must  petition  him  to  improve  the  sanitation  of  his 
hotel." 

"We  are  being  told,  one  may  suppose,  that  Gen- 
eral Valdez  is  the  newly  elected  governor?" 

"Right,  your  excellency,  elected  by  a  large  ma- 
jority to  succeed  the  late  Governor  Megales." 

"Late!"  The  former  governor  lifted  his  eye- 
brows. "Am  I  also  being  told  that  necessity  de- 
mands the  posting  of  the  suicide  bulletin,  after  all?" 

"Not  at  all.  Sure,  I  gave  you  me  word,  excel- 
lency. And  that  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  am 
here.  We  have  arranged  to  run  a  special  down  the 
line  to-night,  in  order  to  avoid  the  risk  of  the  news 
leaking  out  that  you  are  still  here.  Can  you  make 

251 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


your  arrangements  to  take  that  train,  or  will  it 
hurry  your  packing  too  much?" 

Megales  laughed.  "I  have  nothing  to  take  with 
me  except  my  daughter.  The  rest  of  my  posses- 
sions may  be  forwarded  later." 

"Oh,  your  daughter!  Well,  that's  pat,  too. 
What  about  the  lad,  Valdez?" 

"Are  you  his  representative,  senor?" 

"Oh,  he  can  talk  for  himself."  O'Halloran 
grinned.  "He's  doing  it  right  now,  by  the  same 
token.  Shall  we  interrupt  a  tete-a-tete  and  go  pay 
our  compliments  to  Miss  Carmencita?  You  will 
want  to  find  out  whether  she  goes  with  you  or  stays 
here." 

"Assuredly.     Anything  to  escape  this  cave." 

Miss  Carmencita  was  at  that  moment  reiterating 
her  everlasting  determination  to  go  wherever  her  fa- 
ther went.  "If  you  think,  sir,  that  your  faithless- 
ness to  him  is  a  recommendation  of  your  promised 
faithfulness  to  me,  I  can  only  wish  you  more  light 
on  the  feelings  of  a  daughter,"  she  was  informing 
Valdez,  when  her  father  slipped  through  the  panel 
door  and  stood  before  her. 

"Brava,  senorita!"  he  applauded,  with  subtle 
irony,  clapping  his  hands.  "Brava,  brava!" 

That  young  woman  swam  blushingly  toward  him 
and  let  her  face  disappear  in  an  embrace. 

"You  see,  one  can't  have  everything,  Senor  Val- 
dez," continued  Megales  lightly.  "For  me,  I  can- 
not have  both  Chihuahua  and  my  life;  you,  it  seems, 

252 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


cannot  have  both  your  successful  revolution  and  my 
daughter." 

"Your  excellency,  she  loves  me.  Of  that  I  am 
assured.  It  rests  with  you  to  say  whether  her  life 
will  be  spoiled  or  not.  You  know  what  I  can  offer 
her  in  addition  to  a  heart  full  of  devotion.  It  is 
enough.  Shall  she  be  sacrificed  to  her  loyalty  to 
you  ?"  the  young  man  demanded,  with  all  the  ardor 
of  his  warm-blooded  race. 

"It  is  no  sacrifice  to  love  and  obey  my  father/' 
came  a  low  murmur  from  the  former  governor's 
shoulder. 

"Since  the  world  began  it  kas  been  the  law  of  life 
that  the  young  should  leave  their  parents  for  a  home 
of  their  own,"  Juan  protested. 

"So  the  Scripture  says,"  agreed  Megales  sar- 
donically. "It  further  counsels  to  love  one's  ene- 
mies, but,  I  think,  omits  mention  of  the  enemies  of 
one's  father." 

"Sir,  I  am  not  your  enemy.  Political  exigencies 
have  thrown  us  into  different  camps,  but  we  are  not 
so  small  as  to  let  such  incidentals  come  between  us 
,as  a  vital  objection  in  such  a  matter." 

"You  argue  like  a  lawyer,"  smiled  the  governor. 
"You  forget  that  I  am  neither  judge  nor  jury. 
Tyrant  I  may  have  been  to  a  fickle  people  that 
needed  a  firm  hand  to  rule  them,  but  tyrant  I  am  not 
to  my  only  daughter,'7 

"Then  you  consent,  your  excellency?"  cried  Val- 
dez  joyously. 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"I  neither  consent  nor  refuse.  You  must  go  to 
a  more  final  authority  than  mine  for  an  answer, 
young  man." 

"But  you  are  willing  she  should  follow  where 
her  heart  leads  ?" 

"But  certainly." 

"Then  she  is  mine/'  cried  Valdez. 

"I  am  not,"  replied  the  girl  indignantly  over 
her  shoulder. 

Megales  turned  her  till  her  unconsenting  eyes 
met  his.  "Do  you  want  to  marry  this  young  man, 
Carmencita  ?" 

"I  never  told  him  anything  of  the  sort,"  she 
flamed. 

"I  didn't  quite  ask  what  you  had  told  him.  The 
question  is  whether  you  love  him." 

"But  no;  I  love  you,"  she  blushed. 

"I  hope  so,"  smiled  her  father.  "But  do  you 
love  him?  An  honest  answer,  if  you  please." 

"Could  I  love  a  rebel?" 

"No  Yankee  answers,  muchacha.  Do  you  love 
Juan  Valdez?" 

It  was  Valdez  that  broke  triumphantly  the  mo- 
ment's silence  that  followed.  "She  does.  She 
does.  I  claim  the  consent  of  silence." 

But  victory  spoke  too  prematurely  in  his  voice. 
Cried  the  proud  Spanish  girl  passionately:  "I 
hate  him!" 

Megales  understood  the  quality  of  her  hate,  and 
beckoned  to  his  future  son-in-law.  "I  have  some 

254 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


arrangements  to  make  for  our  journey  to-night. 
Would  it  distress  you,  sefior,  if  I  were  to  leave  you 
for  a  while?" 

He  slipped  out  and  left  them  alone. 

"Well?"  asked  O'Halloran,  who  had  remained 
in  the  corridor. 

"I  think,  Sefior  Dictator,  I  shall  have  to  make  the 
trip  with  only  General  Carlo  for  a  companion,"  an- 
swered the  Spaniard. 

The  Irishman  swung  his  hat.  "Hip,  hip,  hur- 
rah! You're  a  gentleman  I  could  find  it  in  me 
heart  to  both  love  and  hate,  governor." 

"And  you're  a  gentleman,"  returned  the  gover- 
nor, with  a  bow,  "I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
hang  high  as  Haman  without  love  or  hate." 

Michael  linked  his  arm  in  that  of  his  excellency. 

"Sure,  you're  a  broth  of  a  lad,  Senor  Megales," 
he  said  irreverently,  in  good,  broad  Irish  brogue. 
"Here,  me  bye,  where  are  you  hurrying?"  he  added, 
catching  at  the  sleeve  of  Frances  Mackenzie,  who 
was  slipping  quietly  past. 

"Please,  Mr.  O'Halloran,  I've  been  up  to  the 
office  after  water.  I'm  taking  it  to  Senorita  Car- 
mencita." 

"She  doesn't  want  water  just  now.  You  go  back 
to  the  office,  son,  and  stay  there  thirty  minutes. 
Then  you  take  her  that  water,"  ordered  O'Hal- 
loran. 

"But  she  wanted  it  as  soon  as  I  could  get  it, 


sir." 


255 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"Forget  it,  kid,  just  as  she  has.  Water!  Why, 
she's  drinking  nectar  of  the  gods.  Just  you  do  as 
I  tell  ye." 

Frances  was  puzzled,  but  she  obeyed,  even  though 
she  could  not  understand  his  meaning.  She  under- 
stood better  when  she  slid  back  the  panel  at  the 
expiration  of  the  allotted  time  and  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Carmencita  Megales  in  the  arms  of  Juan 
Valdez. 


256 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

HIDDEN     VALLEY. 

Across  the  desert  into  the  hills,  where  the  sun 
was  setting  in  a  great  splash  of  crimson  in  the  sad- 
dle between  two  distant  peaks,  a  bunch  of  cows 
trailed  heavily.  Their  tongues  hung  out  and  they 
panted  for  water,  stretching  their  necks  piteously 
to  low  now  and  again.  For  the  heat  of  an  Ari- 
zona summer  was  on  the  baked  land  and  in  the  air 
that  palpitated  above  it. 

But  the  end  of  the  journey  was  at  hand  and  the 
cowpuncher  in  charge  of  the  drive  relaxed  in  the 
saddle  after  the  easy  fashion  of  the  vaquero  when 
he  is  under  no  tension.  He  did  not  any  longer 
cast  swift,  anxious  glances  behind  him  to  make  sure 
no  pursuit  was  in  sight.  For  he  had  reached  safety. 
He  knew  the  'Open  sesame'  to  that  rock  wall  which 
rose  sheer  in  front  of  him.  Straight  for  it  he  and 
his  companion  took  their  gather,  swinging  the  cat- 
tle adroitly  round  a  great  slab  which  concealed  a 
gateway  to  the  secret  canon.  Half  a  mile  up  this 
defile  lay  what  was  called  Hidden  Valley,  an  inac- 
cessible retreat  known  only  to  those  who  frequented 
it  for  nefarious  purposes. 

It  was  as  the  man  in  charge  circled  round  to 
head  the  lead  cows  in  that  a  faint  voice  carried  to 

257 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


him.  He  stopped,  listening.  It  came  again,  a  dry, 
parched  call  for  help  that  had  no  hope  in  it.  He 
wheeled  his  pony  as  on  a  half  dollar,  and  two  min- 
utes later  caught  sight  of  an  exhausted  figure  lean- 
ing against  a  cottonwood.  He  needed  no  second 
guess  to  surmise  that  she  was  lost  and  had  been 
wandering  over  the  sandy  desert  through  the  hot 
day.  With  a  shout,  he  loped  toward  her,  and  had 
his  water  bottle  at  her  lips  before  she  had  recov- 
ered from  her  glad  surprise  at  sight  of  him. 

"You'll  feel  better  now,"  he  soothed.  "How 
long  you  been  lost,  ma'am?" 

"Since  ten  this  morning.  I  came  with  my  aunt 
to  gather  poppies,  and  somehow  I  got  separated 
from  her  and  the  rig.  These  hills  look  so  alike. 
I  must  have  got  turned  round  and  mistaken  one  for 
another." 

"You  have  to  be  awful  careful  here.  Some  one 
ought  to  have  told  you,"  he  said  indignantly. 

"Oh,  they  told  me,  but  of  course  I  knew  best," 
she  replied,  with  quick  scorn  of  her  own  self-suffi- 
ciency. 

"Well,  it's  all  right  now,"  the  cowpuncher  told 
her  cheerfully.  He  would  not  for  a  thousand  dol- 
lars have  told  her  how  near  it  had  come  to  being 
all  wrong,  how  her  life  had  probably  depended  upon 
that  faint  wafted  call  of  hers. 

He  put  her  on  his  horse  and  led  it  forward  to  the 
spot  where  the  cattle  waited  at  the  gateway.  Not 
until  they  came  full  upon  them  did  he  remember 

258 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


that  it  was  dangerous  for  strange  young  women  to 
see  him  with  those  cattle  and  at  the  gateway  to  the 
hidden  canon. 

'They  are  my  uncle's  cattle.  I  could  tell  the 
brand  anywhere.  Are  you  one  of  his  riders?  Are 
we  close  to  the  Rocking  Chair  Ranch?"  she  cried. 

He  flung  a  quick  glance  at  her.  "Not  very  close. 
Are  you  from  the  Rocking  Chair?" 

"Yes.     I'm  Mr.  Mackenzie's  niece." 

"Major  Mackenzie's  daughter?"  demanded  the 
man  quickly. 

"Yes."  She  said  it  with  a  touch  of  annoyance, 
for  he  looked  at  her  as  a  man  does  who  has  heard 
of  her  before.  She  knew  that  the  story  had  been 
bruited  far  and  wide  of  how  she  had  passed  through 
the  hands  of  the  train  robbers  carrying  thirty 
thousand  dollars  on  her  person.  She  had  no  doubt 
that  it  was  in  this  connection  her  rescuer  had  heard 
of  her. 

He  drew  off  to  one  side  and  called  his  companion 
to  him. 

"Hardman,  you  ride  up  to  the  ranch  and  tell 
Leroy  I've  just  found  Miss  Mackenzie  wandering 
around  on  the  desert,  lost.  Ask  him  whether  I'm 
to  bring  her  up.  She's  played  out  and  can't  travel 
far,  tell  him." 

The  showman  rode  on  his  errand  and  the  other 
returned  to  Helen. 

"You  better  'light,  ma'am.  We'll  have  to  wait 
here  a  few  minutes,"  he  explained. 

259 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


He  helped  her  dismount.  She  did  not  understand 
why  it  was  necessary  to  wait,  but  that  was  his  busi- 
ness and  not  hers.  Her  roving  eyes  fell  upon  the 
cattle  again. 

"They  are  my  uncle's,  aren't  they  ?" 

"They  were,"  he  corrected.  "Cattle  change 
hands  a  good  deal  in  this  country,"  he  added  dryly, 

"Then  you're  not  one  of  his  riders  ?"  Her  dark 
eyes  passed  over  him  swiftly. 

"No,  ma'am." 

"Are  we  far  from  the  Rocking  Chair?" 

"A  right  smart  distance.  You've  been  traveling, 
you  see,  for  eight  or  nine  hours." 

It  occurred  to  her  that  there  was  something  elu- 
sive, something  not  quite  frank,  about  the  replies 
of  this  young  man.  Her  glance  raked  him  again 
and  swept  up  the  details  of  his  person.  One  of 
them  that  impressed  itself  upon  her  mind  was  the 
absence  of  a  finger  on  his  right  hand.  Another  was 
that  he  was  a  walking  arsenal.  This  startled  her, 
though  she  was  not  yet  afraid.  She  relapsed  into 
silence,  to  which  he  seemed  willing  to  consent. 
Once  and  again  her  glance  swept  him.  He  looked 
a  tough,  weather-beaten  Westerner,  certainly  not  a 
man  whom  a  woman  need  be  afraid  to  meet  alone 
on  the  plains,  but  the  oftener  she  looked  the  more 
certain  she  became  that  he  was  not  a  casual  puncher 
busy  at  the  legitimate  work  of  his  craft. 

"Do  you — live  near  here?"  she  asked  presently. 

"I  live  under  my  hat,  ma'am,"  he  told  hen 
260 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"Sometimes  near  here,  sometimes  not  so  near." 

This  told  her  exactly  nothing. 

"How  far  did  you  say  it  was  to  the  Rocking 
Chair?" 

"I  didn't  say." 

At  the  sound  of  a  horse's  footfall  she  turned,  and 
she  saw  that  whereas  they  had  been  two,  now  they 
were  three.  The  newcomer  was  a  slender,  grace- 
ful man,  dark  and  lithe,  with  quick,  piercing  eyes, 
set  deep  in  the  most  reckless,  sardonic  face  she  had 
ever  seen. 

The  man  bowed,  with  a  sweep  of  his  hat  almost 
derisive.  "Miss  Mackenzie,  I  believe." 

She  met  him  with  level  eyes  that  confessed  no 
fear. 

"Who  are  you,  sir?" 

"They  call  me  Wolf  Leroy." 

Her  heart  sank.  "You  and  he  are  the  men  that 
held  up  the  Limited." 

"If  we  are,  you  are  the  young  lady  that  beat  us 
out  of  thirty  thousand  dollars.  We'll  collect  now," 
he  told  her,  with  a  silky  smile  and  a  glitter  of  white, 
even  teeth. 

"What  do  you  mean?  Do  you  think  I  carry 
money  about  with  me?" 

"I  didn't  say  that.  We'll  put  it  up  to  your  fa- 
ther." 

"My  father?" 

"He'll  have  to  raise  thirty  thousand  dollars  to 
redeem  his  daughter."  He  let  his  bold  eyes  show 

261 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


their  admiration.  "And  she's  worth  every  cent  of 
it'1 

"Do  you  mean "  She  read  the  flash  of  tri- 
umph in  his  ribald  eyes  and  broke  off.  There  was 
no  need  to  ask  him  what  he  meant. 

"That's  what  I  mean  exactly,  ma'am.  You're 
welcome  to  the  hospitality  of  Hidden  Valley. 
What's  ours  is  yours.  You're  welcome  to  stay  as 
long  as  you  like,  but  I  reckon  you're  not  welcome 
to  go  whenever  you  want  to — not  till  we  get  that 
thirty  thousand." 

"You  talk  as  if  he  were  a  millionaire,"  she  told 
him  scornfully. 

"The  major's  got  friends  that  are.  If  it's  a 
showdown  he'll  dig  the  dough  up.  I  ain't  a  bit 
worried  about  that.  His  brother,  Webb,  will  come 
through." 

"Why  should  he?"  She  stood  as  straight  and 
unbending  as  a  young  pine,  courage  regnant  in  the 
very  poise  of  the  fine  head.  "You  daren't  harm  a 
hair  of  my  head,  and  he  knows  it.  For  your  life, 
you  daren't." 

His  eyes  glittered.  Wolf  Leroy  was  never  a  safe 
man  to  fling  a  challenge  at.  "Don't  you  be  too  sure 
of  that,  my  dear.  There  ain't  one  thing  on  this 
green  earth  I  daren't  do  if  I  set  my  mind  to  it. 
And  your  friends  know  it." 

The  other  man  broke  in,  easy  and  unmoved. 
"Hold  yore  hawses,  cap.  We  got  no  call  to  be 
threatening  this  young  lady.  We  keep  her  for  a 

262 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


ransom  because  that's  business.  But  she's  as  safe 
here  as  she  would  be  at  the  Rocking  Chair.  She'? 
got  York  Neil's  word  for  that." 

The  Wolf  snarled.  "The  word  of  a  miscreant. 
That'll  comfort  her  a  heap.  And  York  Neil's  word 
don't  always  go  up  here." 

The  cowpuncher's  steady  eyes  met  him.  "It'll 
go  this  time." 

The  girl  gave  her  champion  a  quiet  little  nod 
and  a  low  "Thank  you."  It  was  not  much,  but 
enough.  For  on  the  frontier  "white  men"  do  not 
war  on  women.  Her  instinct  gave  just  the  right 
manner  of  treating  his  help.  It  assumed  that  since 
he  was  what  he  was  he  could  do  no  less.  More- 
over, it  had  the  unexpected  effect  of  spurring  the 
Wolf's  vanity,  or  something  better  than  his  vanity. 
She  could  see  the  battle  in  his  face,  and  the  passing 
of  its  evil,  sinister  expression. 

"Beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Mackenzie.  York's 
right.  I'll  add  my  word  to  his  about  your  safety. 
I'm  a  wolf,  they'll  tell  you.  But  when  I  give  my 
word  I  keep  it." 

They  turned  and  followed  through  the  gateway 
the  cattle  which  Hardman  and  another  rider  were 
driving  up  the  canon.  Presently  the  walls  fell 
back,  the  gulch  opened  to  a  saucer-shaped  valley, 
in  which  nestled  a  little  ranch. 

Leroy  indicated  it  with  a  wave  of  his  hand.  "Wel- 
come to  Hidden  Valley,  Miss  Mackenzie,"  he  said 
cynically. 

263 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"Afraid  I'm  likely  to  wear  my  welcome  out  if 
you  keep  me  here  until  my  father  raises  thirty 
thousand  dollars,"  she  said  lightly. 

"Don't  you  worry  any  about  that.  We  need  the 
refining  influences  of  ladies'  society  here.  I  can  see 
York's  a  heap  improved  already.  Just  to  teach  us 
manners  you're  worth  your  board  and  keep."  Then 
hardily,  with  a  sweeping  gesture  toward  the  weary 
cattle:  "Besides,  your  uncle  has  sent  up  a  contri- 
bution to  help  keep  you  while  you  visit  with  us." 

York  laughed.  "He  sent  it,  but  he  didn't  know 
he  was  sending  it." 

Leroy  surrendered  his  room  to  Miss  Mackenzie 
and  put  at  her  service  the  old  Mexican  woman  who 
cooked  for  him.  She  was  a  silent,  taciturn  creature, 
as  wrinkled  as  leather  parchment  and  about  as  hand- 
some, but  Alice  found  safety  in  the  very  knowledge 
of  the  presence  of  another  woman  in  the  valley.  She 
was  among  robbers  and  cutthroats,  but  old  Juanita 
lent  at  least  a  touch  of  domesticity  to  a  situation  that 
would  otherwise  have  been  impossible.  The  girl 
was  very  uneasy  in  her  mind.  A  cold  dread  filled 
her  heart,  a  fear  that  was  a  good  deal  less  than 
panic-terror,  however.  For  she  trusted  the  man 
Neil  even  as  she  distrusted  his  captain.  Miscreant 
he  had  let  himself  be  called,  and  doubtless  was,  but 
she  knew  no  harm  could  befall  her  from  his  com- 
panions while  he  was  alive  to  prevent  it.  A  reas- 
surance of  this  came  to  her  that  evening  in  the  frag- 
ment of  a  conversation  she  overheard.  They  were 

264 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


passing  her  window  which  she  had  raised  on  ac- 
count of  the  heat  when  the  low  voices  of  two  men 
came  to  her. 

"I  tell  you  I'm  not  going,  Leroy.  Send  Hard- 
man,"  one  said. 

"Are  you  running  this  outfit,  or  am  I,  Neil?" 

"You  are.  But  I  gave  her  my  word.  That's  all 
there's  to  it." 

Alice  was  aware  that  they  had  stopped  and  were 
facing  each  other  tensely. 

"Go  slow,  York.  I  gave  her  my  word,  too.  Do 
you  think  I'm  allowing  to  break  it  while  you're 
away  ?" 

"No,  I  don't.  Look  here,  Phil.  I'm  not  looking 
for  trouble.  You're  major-domo  of  this  outfit. 
What  you  say  goes — except  about  this  girl.  I'm  a 
white  man,  if  I'm  a  scoundrel." 

"And  I'm  not?" 

"I  tell  you  I'm  not  sayin'  that,"  the  other  an- 
swered doggedly. 

"You're  hinting  it  awful  loud.  I  stand  for  it 
this  time,  York,  but  never  again.  You  butt  in  once 
more  and  you  better  reach  for  your  hardware  simul- 
taneous. Stick  a  pin  in  that." 

They  had  moved  on  again,  and  she  did  not  hear 
Neil's  answer.  Nevertheless,  she  was  comforted 
to  know  she  had  one  friend  among  these  desperate 
outlaws,  and  that  comfort  gave  her  at  least  an  hour 
or  two  of  broken,  nappy  sleep. 

In  the  morning  when  she  had  dressed  she  found 
265 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


her  room  door  unlocked,  and  she  stepped  outside 
into  the  sunshine.  York  Neil  was  sitting-  on  the 
porch  at  work  on  a  broken  spur  strap.  Looking  up, 
he  nodded  a  casual  good  morning.  But  she  knew 
why  he  was  there,  and  gratitude  welled  up  in  her 
heart.  Not  a  young  woman  who  gave  way  to  every 
impulse,  she  yielded  to  one  now,  and  shook  hands 
with  him.  Their  eyes  met  for  a  moment  and  he 
knew  she  was  thanking  him. 

An  eye  derisive  witnessed  the  handshake.  "An 
alliance  against  the  teeth  of  the  wolf,  I'll  bet.  Good 
mo'ning,  Miss  Mackenzie,"  drawled  Leroy. 

"Good  morning,"  she  answered  quietly,  her  hands 
behind  her. 

"Sleep  well?" 

"Would  you  expect  me  to?" 

"Why  not,  with  York  here  doing  the  virgin- 
knight  act  outside  your  door?" 

Her  puzzled  eyes  discovered  that  Neil's  face  was 
one  blush  of  embarrassment. 

"He  slept  here  on  the  po'ch,"  explained  Leroy, 
amused.  "It's  a  great  fad,  this  outdoor  sleeping. 
The  doctors  recommend  it  strong  for  sick  people. 
You  wouldn't  think  to  look  at  him  York  was  sick. 
He  looks  plumb  husky.  But  looks  are  right  de- 
ceptive. It's  a  fact,  Miss  Mackenzie,  that  he  was 
so  sick  last  night  I  wasn't  dead  sure  he'd  live  till 
mo'ning." 

The  eyes  of  the  men  met  like  rapiers.  Neil  said 
nothing,  and  Leroy  dropped  him  from  his  mind  as 

266 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


if  he  were  a  trifle  and  devoted  his  attention  to 
Alice. 

"Breakfast  is  ready,  Miss  Mackenzie.  This  way, 
please." 

The  outlaw  led  her  to  the  dining  room,  where 
the  young  woman  met  a  fresh  surprise.  The  table 
was  white  with  immaculate  linen  and  shone  with 
silver.  She  sat  down  to  breakfast  food  with  cream, 
followed  by  quail  on  toast,  bacon  and  eggs,  and 
really  good  coffee.  Moreover,  she  discovered  that 
this  terror  of  the  border  knew  how  to  handle  his 
knife  and  fork,  was  not  deficient  in  the  little  nice- 
ties of  table  decorum.  He  talked,  and  talked  well, 
ignoring,  like  a  perfect  host,  the  relation  that  ex- 
isted between  them.  They  sat  opposite  each  other 
and  ate  alone,  waited  upon  by  the  Mexican  woman. 
Alice  wondered  if  he  kept  solitary  state  when  she 
was  not  there  or  ate  with  the  other  men. 

It  was  evening  before  Hardman  returned  from 
the  mission  upon  which  he  had  been  sent  in  place  of 
the  obstinate  Neil.  He  reported  at  once  to  Leroy, 
who  came  smilingly  to  the  place  where  she  was 
sitting  on  the  porch  to  tell  her  his  news. 

"Webb  Mackenzie's  going  to  raise  that  thirty 
thousand,  all  right.  He's  promised  to  raise  it  in- 
side of  three  days,"  he  told  her  triumphantly. 

"And  shall  I  have  to  stay  here  three  whole  days  ?" 

He  looked  with  half-shut,  smoldering  eyes  at  her 
slender  exquisiteness,  compact  of  a  strange  charm 
that  was  both  well-bred  and  gypsyish.  There  was 

267 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


a  scarce-veiled  passion  in  his  gaze  that  troubled 
her.  More  than  once  that  day  she  had  caught  it. 

"Three  days  ain't  so  long.  I  could  stand  three 
months  of  you  and  wish  for  more,"  he  told  her. 

Lightly  she  turned  the  subject,  but  not  without 
a  chill  of  fear.  Three  days  was  a  long  time.  Much 
might  happen  if  this  wolf  slipped  the  leash  of  his 
civilization. 

It  was  next  day  that  an  incident  occurred  which 
was  to  affect  the  course  of  events  more  than  she 
could  guess  at  the  time.  A  bunch  of  wild  hill  steers 
had  been  driven  down  by  Hardman,  Reilly,  and 
Neil  in  the  afternoon  and  were  inclosed  in  the  cor- 
ral with  the  cows  from  the  Rocking  Chair  Ranch. 
Just  before  sunset  Leroy,  who  had  been  away  all 
day,  returned  and  sauntered  over  from  the  stable  to 
join  Alice.  It  struck  the  girl  from  his  flushed  ap- 
pearance that  he  had  been  drinking.  In  his  eye 
she  found  a  wild  devil  of  lawlessness  that  set  her 
heart  pounding.  If  Neil  and  he  clashed  now  there 
would  be  murder  done.  Of  that  she  felt  sure. 

That  she  set  herself  to  humor  the  Wolf's  whims 
was  no  more  for  her  own  safety  than  for  that  of 
the  man  who  had  been  her  friend.  She  curbed 
her  fears,  clamped  down  her  startled  maiden  mod- 
esty, parried  his  advances  with  light  words  and  gay 
smiles.  Once  Neil  passed,  and  his  eyes  asked  a 
question.  She  shook  her  head,  unnoticed  by  Le- 
roy. She  would  fight  her  own  battle  as  long  as 
she  could.  It  was  to  divert  him  that  she  proposed 

268 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


they  go  down  to  the  corral  and  look  at  the  wild 
cattle  the  men  had  driven  down.  She  told  him  she 
had  heard  a  great  deal  about  them,  but  had  never 
seen  any.  If  he  would  go  with  her  she  would  like 
to  look  at  them. 

The  outlaw  was  instantly  at  her  service,  and  they 
sauntered  across.  In  her  hand  the  girl  carried  a 
closed  umbrella  she  had  been  using  to  keep  off  the 
sun. 

They  stood  at  the  gate  of  the  corral  looking  at 
the  long-legged,  shaggy  creatures,  as  wild  and  as 
active  almost  as  hill  deer.  On  horseback  one  could 
pass  to  and  fro  among  them  without  danger,  but 
in  a  closed  corral  a  man  on  foot  would  have  taken 
a  chance.  Nobody  knew  this  better  than  Leroy. 
But  the  liquor  was  still  in  his  head,  and  even  when 
sober  he  was  reckless  beyond  other  men. 

"They  need  water,"  he  said,  and  with  that, 
opened  the  gate  and  started  for  the  windmill. 

He  sauntered  carelessly  across,  with  never  a 
glance  at  the  dangerous  animals  among  which  he 
was  venturing.  A  great  bull  pawed  the  ground, 
lowered  its  head,  and  made  a  rush  at  the  uncon- 
scious man.  Alice  called  to  him  to  look  out,  then 
whipped  open  the  gate  and  ran  after  him.  Leroy 
turned,  and,  in  a  flash,  saw  that  which  for  an  in- 
stant filled  him  with  a  deadly  paralysis.  Between 
him  and  the  bull,  directly  in  the  path  of  its  rush, 
stood  this  slender  girl,  defenceless. 

Even  as  his  revolver  flashed  out  from  the  scab* 
260 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


bard  the  outlaw  knew  he  was  too  late  to  save 
her,  for  she  stood  in  such  a  position  that  he  could 
not  hit  a  vital  spot.  Suddenly  her  umbrella  opened 
in  the  face  of  the  animal.  Frightened,  it  set  its  feet 
wide  and  slithered  to  a  halt  so  close  to  her  that  its 
horns  pierced  the  silk  of  the  umbrella.  With  one 
hand  Leroy  swept  the  girl  behind  him;  with  the 
other  he  pumped  three  bullets  into  the  forehead  of 
the  bull.  Without  a  groan  it  keeled  over,  dead  be- 
fore it  reached  the  ground. 

Alice  leaned  against  the  iron  support  of  the  wind- 
mill. She  was  so  white  that  the  man  expected  her 
to  sink  down.  One  glance  showed  him  other  cat- 
tle pawing  the  ground  angrily. 

"Come !"  he  ordered,  and,  putting  an  arm  round 
her  waist,  he  ran  with  her  to  the  gate.  Yet  a  mo- 
ment, and  they  were  through  in  safety. 

She  leaned  against  him  helpless  for  an  instant 
before  she  had  strength  to  disengage  herself. 
"Thank  you.  I'm  all  right  now." 

"I  thought  you  were  going  to  faint,"  he  ex- 
plained. 

She  nodded.     "I  nearly  did." 

His  face  was  colorless.     "You  saved  my  life." 

"Then  we're  quits,  for  you  saved  mine,"  she  an- 
swered, with  a  shaken  attempt  at  a  smile. 

He  shook  his  head.  "That's  not  the  same  at  all. 
J  had  to  do  that,  and  there  was  no  risk  to  it.  But 
you  chose  to  save  me,  to  risk  your  life  for  mine." 

She  saw  that  he  was  greatly  moved,  and  that  his 
270 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


emotion  had  swept  away  the  effects  of  the  liquor 
as  a  fresh  breeze  does  a  fog. 

"I  didn't  know  I  was  risking  my  life.  I  saw  you 
didn't  see." 

"I  didn't  think  there  was  a  woman  alive  had  the 
pluck  to  do  it — and  for  me,  your  enemy.  That's 
what  you  count  me,  isn't  it — an  enemy  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  can't  quite  think  of  you  as  a 
friend,  can  I?" 

"And  yet  I  would  have  protected  you  from  any 
danger  at  any  cost." 

"Except  the  danger  of  yourself,"  she  said,  in  a 
low  voice,  meeting  him  eye  to  eye. 

He  accepted  her  correction  with  a  groan,  and 
wheeled  away,  leaning  his  arms  on  the  corral  fence 
and  looking  away  to  that  saddle  between  the  peaks 
which  still  glowed  with  sunset  light. 

"I  haven't  met  a  woman  of  your  kind  before  in 
ten  years,"  he  said  presently.  "I've  lived  on  your 
looks,  your  motions,  the  inflections  of  your  voice. 
I  suppose  I've  been  starved  for  that  sort  of  thing, 
and  didn't  know  it  till  you  came.  It's  been  like  a 
glimpse  of  heaven  to  me."  He  laughed  bitterly, 
and  went  on :  "Of  course,  I  had  to  take  to  drink- 
ing and  let  you  see  the  devil  I  am.  When  I'm  sober 
you  would  be  as  safe  with  me  as  with  York.  But 

the  excitement  of  meeting  you I  have  to  ride 

my  emotions  to  death  so  as  to  drain  them  to  the 
uttermost.  Drink  stimulates  the  imagination,  and 
I  drank." 

271 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"I'm  sorry." 

Her  voice  said  more  than  the  words.  He  looked 
at  her  curiously.  "You're  only  a  girl.  What  do 
you  know  about  men  of  my  sort?  You  have  been 
wrappered  and  sheltered  all  your  life.  And  yet  you 
understand  me  better  than  any  of  the  people  I 
meet.  All  my  life  I  have  fought  with  myself.  I 
might  have  been  a  gentleman  and  I'm  only  a  wolf. 
My  appetites  and  passions,  stronger  than  myself, 
dragged  me  down.  It  was  Kismet,  the  destiny  or- 
dained for  me  from  my  birth." 

"Isn't  there  always  hope  for  a  man  who  knows 
his  weaknesses  and  fights  against  them?"  she  asked 
timidly. 

"No,  there  is  not,"  came  the  harsh  answer.  "Be- 
sides, I  don't  fight.  I  yield  to  mine.  Enough  of 
that.  It  is  you  we  have  to  consider,  not  me.  You 
have  saved  my  life,  and  I  have  got  to  pay  the  debt." 

"I  didn't  think  who  you  were,"  her  honesty  com- 
pelled her  to  say. 

"That  doesn't  matter.  You  did  it.  I'm  going 
to  take  you  back  to  your  father  as  straight  as  I 
can." 

Her  eyes  lit.     "Without  a  ransom?" 

"Yes." 

"You  pay  your  debts  like  a  gentleman,  sir." 

"I'm  not  coyote  all  through." 

She  could  only  ignore  the  hunger  that  stared  out 
of  his  eyes  for  her.  "What  about  your  friends? 
Will  they  let  me  go?" 

272 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"They'll  do  as  I  say.  What  kicking  they  do  will 
be  done  mostly  in  private,  and  when  they're  away 
from  me." 

"I  don't  want  to  make  trouble  for  you." 

"You  won't  make  trouble  for  me.  If  there's  any 
trouble  it  will  be  for  them,"  he  said  grimly. 

Neither  of  them  made  any  motion  toward  the 
house.  The  girl  felt  a  strange  impulse  of  tender- 
ness toward  this  man  who  had  traveled  so  fast 
the  road  to  destruction.  She  had  seen  before  that 
deep  hunger  of  the  eyes,  for  she  was  of  the  type 
of  woman  that  holds  a  strong  attraction  for  men. 
It  told  her  that  he  had  looked  in  the  face  of  his 
happiness  too  late — too  late  by  the  many  years  of  a 
misspent  life  that  had  decreed  inexorably  the  char- 
acter he  could  no  longer  change. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said  again.  "I  didn't  see  that 
in  you  at  first.  I  misjudged  you.  One  can't  label 
men  just  good  or  bad,  as  the  novelists  used  to. 
You  have  taught  me  that — you  and  Mr.  Neil." 

His  low,  sardonic  laughter  rippled  out.  "I'm 
bad  enough.  Don't  make  any  mistake  about  that, 
Miss  Mackenzie.  York's  different.  He's  just  a 
good  man  gone  wrong.  But  I'm  plain  miscreant." 

"Oh,  no,"  she  protested. 

"As  bad  as  they  make  them,  but  not  wolf  clear 
through,"  he  said  again.  "Something's  happened 
to  me  to-day.  It  won't  change  me.  I've  gone  too 
far  for  that.  But  some  morning  when  you  read 
in  the  papers  that  Wolf  Leroy  died  with  his  boots 

273 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


on  and  everybody  in  sight  registers  his  opinion  of 
the  deceased  you'll  remember  one  thing.  He  wasn't 
a  wolf  to  you — not  at  the  last." 

"I'll  not  forget,"  she  said,  and  the  quick  tears 
were  in  her  eyes. 

York  Neil  came  toward  them  from  the  house.  It 
was  plain  from  his  manner  he  had  a  joke  up  his 
sleeve. 

"You're  wanted,  Phil,"  he  announced. 

"Wanted  where?" 

i  "You  got  a  visitor  in  there,"  Neil  said,  with  a 
grin  and  a  jerk  of  his  thumb  toward  the  house. 
"Came  blundering  into  the  draw  sorter  accidental- 
like,  but  some  curious.  So  I  asked  him  if  he 
wouldn't  'light  and  stay  a  while.  He  thought  it 
over,  and  figured  he  would." 

"Who  is  it?"  asked  Leroy. 

"You  go  and  see.  I  ain't  giving  away  what  your 
Christmas  presents  are.  I  aim  to  let  Santa  surprise 
you  a  few." 

Miss  Mackenzie  followed  the  outlaw  chief  into 
the  house,  and  over  his  shoulder  glimpsed  two  men. 
One  of  them  was  the  Irishman,  Cork  Reilly,  and  he 
sat  with  a  Winchester  across  his  knees.  The  other 
had  his  back  toward  them,  but  he  turned  as  they 
entered,  and  nodded  casually  to  the  outlaw.  Helen's 
heart  jumped  to  her  throat  when  she  saw  it  was 
Val  Collins. 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  steadily  in  a 
long  silence.  Wolf  Leroy  was  the  first  to  speak. 

274 


THE  TWO  MEN  LOOKED  AT  EACH  OTHER  STEADILY  IN  A  LONG   SILENCE. 

Page  274. 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"You  damn  fool!"  The  swarthy  face  creased 
to  an  evil  smile  of  derision. 

"I  ce'tainly  do  seem  to  butt  in  considerable,  Mr. 
Leroy,"  admitted  Collins,  with  an  answering  smile. 

Leroy's  square  jaw  set  like  a  vise.  "It  won't 
\  happen  again,  Mr.  Sheriff." 

"I'd  hate  to  gamble  on  that  heavy,"  returned  Col- 
lins easily.  Then  he  caught  sight  of  the  girl's  white 
face,  and  rose  to  his  feet  with  outstretched  hand. 

"Sit  down,"  snapped  out  Reilly. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  I'm  shaking  hands  with  the 
lady.  Did  you  think  I  was  inviting  you  to  drill  a 
hole  in  me,  Mr.  Reilly?" 


275 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A   DINNER    FOR    THREE. 

"I  thought  we  bumped  you  off  down  at  Epitaph," 
Leroy  said. 

"Along  with  Scotty  ?  Well,  no.  You  see,  I'm  a 
regular  cat  to  kill,  Mr.  Leroy,  and  I  couldn't  con- 
scientiously join  the  angels  with  so  lame  a  story  as 
a  game  laig  to  explain  my  coming,"  said  Collins 
cheerfully. 

"In  that  case " 

"Yes,  I  understand.  You'd  be  willing  to  ac- 
commodate with  a  hole  in  the  haid  instead  of  one 
in  the  laig.  But  I'll  not  trouble  you." 

"What  are  you  doing  here?  Didn't  I  warn  you 
to  attend  to  your  own  business  and  leave  me  alone  ?" 

"Seems  to  me  you  did  load  me  up  with  some 
good  advice,  but  I  plumb  forgot  to  follow  it." 

The  Wolf  cursed  under  his  breath.  "You  came 
here  at  your  own  risk,  then  ?" 

"Well,  I  did  and  I  didn't,"  corrected  the  sheriff 
easily.  "I've  got  a  five-thousand  policy  in  the 
Southeastern  Life  Insurance  Company,  so  I  reckon 
it's  some  risk  to  them.  And,  by  the  way,  it's  a  com- 
pany I  can  recommend." 

"Does  it  insure  against  suicide?"  asked  Leroy, 
276 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


his  masked,  smiling  face  veiling  thinly  a  ruthless 
purpose. 

"And  against  hanging.  Let  me  strongly  urge 
you  to  take  out  a  policy  at  once/'  came  the  prompt 
retort. 

"You  think  it  necessary?" 

"Quite.  When  you  and  York  Neil  and  Hard- 
man  made  an  end  of  Scotty  you  threw  ropes  round 
your  own  necks.  Any  locoed  tenderfoot  would 
know  that." 

The  sheriff's  unflinching  look  met  the  outlaw's 
black  frown  serene  and  clear-eyed. 

"And  would  he  know  that  you  had  committed 
suicide  when  you  ran  this  place  down  and  came 
here?"  asked  Leroy,  with  silken  cruelty. 

"Well,  he  ought  to  know  it.  The  fact  is,  Mr. 
Leroy,  that  it  hadn't  penetrated  my  think-tank  that 
this  was  your  hacienda  when  I  came  mavericking 
in." 

"Just  out  riding  for  your  health?" 

"Not  exactly.  I  was  looking  for  Miss  Macken- 
zie. I  cut  her  trail  about  six  miles  from  the  Rock- 
ing Chair  and  followed  it  where  she  wandered 
around.  The  trail  led  directly  away  from  the  ranch 
toward  the  mountains.  That  didn't  make  me  any 
easy  in  my  mind.  So  I  just  jogged  along  and 
elected  myself  an  investigating  committee.  I  ar- 
rived some  late,  but  here  I  am,  right  side  up — and 
so  hearty  welcome  that  my  friend  Cork  won't  hear 
of  my  leaving  at  all.  He  don't  do  a  thing  but  enter- 

277 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


tain  me — never  lets  his  attention  wander.  Oh,  I'm 
the  welcome  guest,  all  right.  No  doubt  about 
that" 

Wolf  Leroy  turned  to  Alice.  "I  think  you  had 
better  go  to  your  room,"  he  said  gently. 

"Oh,  no,  no;  let  me  stay/'  she  implored.     "You 

would  never — you  would  never "     The  words 

died  on  her  white  lips,  but  the  horror  in  her  eyes 
finished  the  question. 

He  met  her  gaze  fully,  and  answered  her  dog- 
gedly. "You're  not  in  this,  Miss  Mackenzie.  It's 
between  him  and  me.  I  shan't  allow  even  you  <  > 
interfere." 

"But — oh,  it  is  horrible!    Let  me  see  you  alon 
for  two  minutes." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"You  must!     Please." 

"What  use?" 

Her  troubled  gaze  shifted  to  the  strong,  brown 
sun-baked  face  of  the  man  who  had  put  himself  is 
this  deadly  peril  to  save  her.  His  keen,  blue-gray 
eyes,  very  searching  and  steady,  met  hers  with  3 
courage  she  thought  splendid,  and  her  heart  cried  out 
passionately  against  the  sacrifice. 

"You  shall  not  do  it.  Oh,  please  let  me  talk  it 
over  with  you." 

"No." 

"Have  you  forgotten  already? — and  you  said 
you  would  always  remember."  She  almost  whis- 
pered it. 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


She  had  stung  his  consent  at  last.  "Very  well," 
he  said,  and  opened  the  door  to  let  her  pass  into 
the  inner  room. 

But  she  noticed  that  his  eyes  were  hard  as  jade. 

"Don't  you  see  that  he  came  here  to  save  me?" 
she  cried,  when  they  were  alone.  "Don't  you  see  it 
was  for  me  ?  He  didn't  come  to  spy  out  your  place 
of  hiding." 

"I  see  that  he  has  found  it.  If  I  let  him  go,  he 
will  bring  back  a  posse  to  take  us." 

"You  could  ride  across  the  line  into  Mexico." 

"I  could,  but  I  won't." 

"But  why?" 

"Because,  Miss  Mackenzie,  the  money  we  took 
from  the  express  car  of  the  Limited  is  hidden  here, 
and  I  don't  know  where  it  is ;  because  the  sun  won't 
ever  rise  on  a  day  when  Val  Collins  will  drive  me 
out  of  Arizona." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  about  the  money, 
but  you  must  let  him  go.  You  spoke  of  a  service 
I  had  done  you.  This  is  my  pay." 

"To  turn  him  loose  to  hunt  us  down  ?" 

"He'll  not  trouble  you  if  you  let  him  go." 

A  sardonic  smile  touched  his  face.  "A  lot  you 
know  of  him.  He  thinks  it  his  duty  to  rid  the 
earth  of  vermin  like  us.  He'd  never  let  up  till  he 
got  us  or  we  got  him.  Well,  we've  got  him  now, 
good  and  plenty.  He  took  his  chances,  didn't  he? 
It  isn't  as  if  he  didn't  know  what  he  was  up  against. 
He'll  tell  you  himself  it's  a  square  deal.  He's 

279 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


game,  and  he  won't  squeal  because  we  win  and  he 
has  to  pay  forfeit." 

The  girl  wrung  her  hands  despairingly. 

"It's  his  life  or  mine — and  not  only  mine,  but 
my  men's,"  continued  the  outlaw.  "Would  you  turn 
a  wolf  loose  from  your  sheep  pen  to  lead  the  pack 
to  the  kill?" 

"But  if  he  were  to  promise " 

"We're  not  talking  about  the  ordinary  man — he'd 
promise  anything  and  lie  to-morrow.  But  Sheriff 
Collins  won't  do  it.  If  you  think  you  can  twist  a 
promise  out  of  him  not  to  take  advantage  of  what 
he  has  found  out  you're  guessing  wrong.  When 
you  think  he's  a  quitter,  just  look  at  that  cork  hand 
of  his,  and  remember  how  come  he  to  get  it.  He'll 
take  his  medicine  proper,  but  he'll  never  crawl." 

"There  must  be  some  way,"  she  cried  desperately, 

"Since  you  make  a  point  of  it,  I'll  give  him  his 
chance." 

"You'll  let  him  go?"  The  joy  in  her  voice  was 
tremulously  plain. 

He  laughed,  leaning  carelessly  against  the  man- 
telshelf. But  his  narrowed  eyes  watched  her  vigi- 
lantly. "I  didn't  say  I  would  let  him  go.  What  I 
said  was  that  I'd  give  him  a  chance." 

"How?" 

"They  say  he's  a  dead  shot.  I'm  a  few  with  a 
gun  myself.  We'll  ride  down  to  the  plains  to- 
gether, and  find  a  good  lonely  spot  suitable  for  a 
graveyard.  Then  one  of  us  will  ride  away,  and 

280 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


the  other  will  stay,  or  perhaps  both  of  us  will 
stay." 

She  shuddered.  "No — no — no.    I  won't  have  it." 

"Afraid  something  might  happen  to  me,  ma'am?" 
he  asked,  v;'th  a  queer  laugh. 

"I  won't  have  it." 

"Afraid,  perhaps,  he  might  be  the  one  left  for  the 
coyotes  and  the  buzzards?" 

She  was  white  to  the  lips,  but  at  his  next  words 
the  blood  came  flaming  back  to  her  cheeks. 

"Why  don't  you  tell  the  truth  ?  Why  don't  you 
say  you  love  him,  and  be  done  with  it?  Say  it, 
and  I'll  take  him  back  to  Tucson  with  you  safe  as 
if  he  were  a  baby." 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  but  with 
two  steps  he  had  reached  her  and  captured  her 
hands. 

"The  truth,"  he  demanded,  and  his  eyes  com- 
pelled. 

"It  is  to  save  his  life?" 

He  laughed  harshly.  "Here's  melodrama  for 
you!  Yes — to  save  your  lover's  life." 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  bravely.  "What  you 
say  is  true.  I  love  him." 

Leroy  bowed  ironically.  "I  congratulate  Mr. 
Collins,  who  is  now  quite  safe,  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned. Meanwhile,  lest  he  be  jealous  of  your  ab- 
sence, shall  we  return  now?" 

Some  word  of  sympathy  for  the  reckless  scamp 
trembled  on  her  lips,  but  her  instinct  told  her  he 

281 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


would  hold  it  insult  added  to  injury,  and  she  left 
her  pity  unvoiced. 

"If  you  please." 

But  as  he  heeled  away  she  laid  a  timid  hand  on 
his  arm.  He  turned  and  looked  grimly  down  at 
the  working  face,  at  the  sweet,  soft,  pitiful  eyes 
brimming  with  tears.  She  was  pure  woman  now, 
all  the  caste  pride  dissolved  in  yearning  pity. 

"Oh,  you  lamb — you  precious  lamb,"  he  groaned, 
and  clicked  his  teeth  shut  on  the  poignant  pain  of 
his  loss. 

"I  think  you're  splendid,"  she  told  him.  "Oh,  I 
know  what  you've  done — that  you  are  not  good.  I 
know  you've  wasted  your  life  and  lived  with  your 
hand  against  every  man's.  But  I  can't  help  all 
that.  I  look  for  the  good  in  you,  and  I  find  it. 
Even  in  your  sins  you  are  not  petty.  You  know 
how  to  rise  to  an  opportunity." 

This  man  of  contradictions,  forever  the  creature 
of  his  impulses,  gave  the  lie  to  her  last  words  by 
signally  failing  to  rise  to  this  one.  He  snatched 
her  to  him,  and  looked  down  hungry-eyed  at  her 
iweet  beauty,  as  fresh  and  fragrant  as  the  wild  rose 
in  the  copse. 

"Please,"  she  cried,  straining  from  him  with 
shy,  frightened  eyes. 

For  answer  he  kissed  her  fiercely  on  the  cheeks, 
and  eyes,  and  mouth. 

"The  rest  are  his,  but  these  are  mine,"  he  laughed 
mirthlessly. 

282 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


Then,  flinging-  her  from  him,  he  led  the  way  into 
the  next  room.  Flushed  and  disheveled,  she  fol- 
lowed. He  had  outraged  her  maiden  instincts  and 
trampled  down  her  traditions  of  caste,  but  she  had 
no  time  to  think  of  this  now. 

"If  you're  through  explaining  the  mechanism  of 
that  Winchester  to  Sheriff  Collins  we'll  reluctantly 
dispense  with  your  presence,  Mr.  Reilly.  We  have 
arranged  a  temporary  treaty  of  peace,"  the  chief 
outlaw  said. 

Reilly,  a  huge  lout  of  a  fellow  with  a  lowering 
countenance,  ventured  to  expostulate.  "Ye  want 
to  be  careful  of  him.  He's  quicker'n  chain  light- 
ning." 

His  chief  exploded  with  low- voiced  fury.  "When 
I  ask  your  advice,  give  it,  you  fat-brained  son  of  a 
brand  blotter.  Until  then  padlock  that  mouth  of 
yours.  Vamos" 

Reilly  vanished,  his  face  a  picture  of  impotent 
malice,  and  Leroy  continued : 

"We're  going  to  the  Rocking  Chair  in  the  morn- 
ing, Mr.  Collins — at  least,  you  and  Miss  Mackenzie 
are  going  there.  I'm  going  part  way.  We've  ar- 
) ranged  a  little  deal  all  by  our  lones,  subject  to  your 
approval.  You  get  away  without  that  hole  in  your 
head.  Miss  Mackenzie  goes  with  you,  and  I  get  in 
return  the  papers  you  took  off  Scotty  and  Web- 
ster." 

"You  mean  I  am  to  give  up  the  hunt?"  asked 
Collins. 

283 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"Not  at  all.  I'll  be  glad  to  death  to  see  you 
blundering  in  again  when  Miss  Mackenzie  isn't  here 
to  beg  you  off.  The  point  is  that  in  exchange  for 
your  freedom  and  Miss  Mackenzie's  I  get  those 
papers  you  left  in  a  safety-deposit  vault  in  Epitaph. 
It'll  save  me  the  trouble  of  sticking  up  the  First  Na- 
tional and  winging  a  few  indiscreet  citizens  of  that 
burgh.  Savvy  ?" 

"That's  all  you  ask?"  demanded  the  surprised 
sheriff. 

"All  I  ask  is  to  get  those  papers  in  my  hand  and 
a  four-hour  start  before  you  begin  the  hunt.  Is  it 
a  deal?" 

"It's  a  deal,  but  I  give  it  to  you  straight  that  I'll 
be  after  you  as  soon  as  the  four  hours  are  up,"  re- 
turned Collins  promptly.  "I  don't  know  what 
magic  Miss  Mackenzie  used.  Still,  I  must  compli- 
ment her  on  getting  us  out  mighty  easy." 

But  though  the  sheriff  looked  smilingly  at  Alice, 
that  young  woman,  usually  mistress  of  herself  in  all 
emergencies,  did  not  lift  her  eyes  to  meet  his.  In- 
deed, he  thought  her  strangely  embarrassed.  She 
was  as  flushed  and  tongue-tied  as  a  country  girl  in 
unaccustomed  company.  She  seemed  another 
woman  than  the  self-possessed  young  beauty  he  had 
met  a  month  before  on  the  Limited,  but  he  found 
her  shy  abashment  charming. 

"I  guess  you  thought  you  had  come  to  the  end 
of  the  passage,  Mr.  Collins,"  suggested  the  outlaw, 
with  listless  curiosity. 

284 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"I  didn't  know  whether  to  order  the  flowers  or 
not,  but  'way  down  in  my  heart  I  was  backing  my 
luck,"  Collins  told  him. 

"Of  course  it's  understood  that  you  are  on  parole 
until  we  separate,"  said  Leroy  curtly. 

"Of  course." 

"Then  we'll  have  supper  at  once,  for  we'll  have 
to  be  on  the  road  early."  He  clapped  his  hands  to- 
gether, and  the  Mexican  woman  appeared.  Her 
master  flung  out  a  command  or  two  in  her  own  lan- 
guage. 

"Poco  tiempo"  she  answered,  and  disappeared. 

In  a  surprisingly  short  time  the  meal  was  ready, 
set  out  on  a  table  white  with  Irish  linen  and  winking 
with  cut  glass  and  silver. 

"Mr.  Leroy  does  not  believe  at  all  in  doing  when 
in  Rome  as  the  Romans  do,"  Alice  explained  to 
Collins,  in  answer  to  his  start  of  amazement.  "He's 
a  regular  Aladdin.  I  shouldn't  be  a  bit  surprised 
to  see  electric  lights  come  on  next." 

"One  has  to  attempt  sometimes  to  blot  out  the 
forsaken  desert,"  said  Leroy.  "Try  this  cut  of 
slow  elk,  Miss  Mackenzie.  I  think  you'll  like  it." 

"Slow  elk!  What  is  that?"  asked  the  girl,  tc 
make  talk. 

"Mr.  Collins  will  tell  you,"  smiled  Leroy. 

She  turned  to  the  sheriff,  who  first  apologized, 
with  a  smile,  to  his  host.  "Slow  elk,  Miss  Macken- 
zie, is  veal  that  has  been  rustled.  I  expect  Mr. 
Leroy  has  pressed  a  stray  calf  into  our  service." 

285 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"I  see,"  she  flashed.     "Pressed  veal." 

The  outlaw  smiled  at  her  ready  wit,  and  took  on 
himself  the  burden  of  further  explanation.  "And 
this  particular  slow  elk  comes  from  a  ranch  on  the 
Aravaipa  owned  by  Mr.  Collins.  York  shot  it  up  in 
the  hills  a  day  or  two  ago." 

"Shouldn't  have  been  straying  so  far  from  its 
range,"  suggested  Collins,  with  a  laugh.  "But  it's 
good  veal,  even  if  I  say  it  that  shouldn't." 

"Thank  you,"  burlesqued  the  bandit  gravely,  with 
such  an  ironic  touch  of  convention  that  Alice  smiled. 

After  dinner  Leroy  produced  cigars,  and  with 
the  permission  of  Miss  Mackenzie  the  two  men 
smoked  while  the  conversation  ran  on  a  topic  as  im- 
personal as  literature.  A  criticism  of  novels  and 
plays  written  to  illustrate  the  frontier  was  the  line 
into  which  the  discussion  fell,  and  the  girl  from  the 
city,  listening  with  a  vivid  interest,  was  pleased  to 
find  that  these  two  real  men  talked  with  point  and 
a  sense  of  dexterous  turns.  She  felt  a  sort  of  proud 
proprietorship  in  their  power,  and  wished  that  some 
of  the  tailors'  models  she  had  met  in  society,  who 
held  so  good  a  conceit  of  themselves,  might  come 
under  the  spell  of  their  strong,  tolerant  virility. 
Whatever  the  difference  between  them,  it  might  be 
truly  said  of  both  that  they  had  lived  at  first  hand 
and  come  in  touch  closely  with  all  the  elemental  re- 
alities. One  of  them  was  a  romantic  villain  and  the 
other  an  unromantic  hero,  but  her  pulsing  emotions 
immorally  condemned  one  no  more  than  the  other. 

286 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


This  was  the  sheer  delight  of  her  esthetic  sense  of 
fitness,  that  strong  men  engaged  in  a  finish  fight 
could  rise  to  so  perfect  a  courtesy  that  an  outsider 
could  not  have  guessed  the  antagonism  that  ran  be- 
tween them,  enduring  as  life. 

Leroy  gave  the  signal  for  breaking  up  by  looking 
at  his  watch.  "Afraid  I  must  say  'Lights  out/ 
It's  past  eleven.  We'll  have  to  be  up  and  on  our 
way  with  the  hooters.  Sleep  well,  Miss  Mackenzie. 
You  don't  need  to  worry  about  waking.  I'll  have 
you  called  in  good  time.  Buenos  noches!' 

He  held  the  door  for  her  as  she  passed  out ;  and, 
in  passing,  her  eyes  rose  to  meet  his. 

"Buenos  noches,  senor;  I'm  sure  I  shall  sleep 
well  to-night,"  she  said. 

It  had  been  the  day  of  Alice  Mackenzie's  life. 
Emotions  and  sensations,  surging  through  her,  had 
trodden  on  each  other's  heels.  Woman-like,  she  wel- 
comed the  darkness  to  analyze  and  classify  the  tur- 
bid chaos  of  her  mind.  She  had  been  swept  into 
sympathy  with  an  outlaw,  to  give  him  no  worse 
name.  She  had  felt  herself  nearer  to  him  than  to 
some  honest  men  she  could  name  who  had  offered 
her  their  love. 

Surely,  that  had  been  bad  enough,  but  worse  was 
to  follow.  This  discerning  scamp  had  torn  aside 
her  veils  of  maiden  reserve  and  exposed  the  secret 
fancy  of  her  heart,  unknown  before  even  to  her- 
self. She  had  confessed  love  for  this  big-hearted 
sheriff  and  frontiersman.  Here  she  could  plead 

287 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


an  ulterior  motive.  To  save  his  life  any  deception 
was  permissible.  Yes,  but  where  lay  the  truth? 
With  that  insistent  demand  of  the  outlaw  had 
rushed  over  her  a  sudden  wave  of  joy.  What  could 
it  mean  unless  it  meant  what  she  would  not  admit 
that  it  could  mean?  Why,  the  man  was  impossi- 
ble. He  was  not  of  her  class.  She  had  scarce 
seen  him  a  half-dozen  times.  Her  first  meeting 
with  him  had  been  only  a  month  ago.  One  month 
ago 

A  remembrance  flashed  through  her  that  brought 
her  from  the  bed  in  a  barefoot  search  for  matches. 
When  the  candle  was  relit  she  slipped  a  chamois- 
skin  pouch  from  her  neck  and  from  it  took  a  sealed 
envelope.  It  was  the  note  in  which  the  sheriff  on 
the  night  of  the  train  robbery  had  written  his  predic- 
tion of  how  the  matter  would  come  out.  She  was 
to  open  the  envelope  in  a  month,  and  the  month  was 
up  to-night. 

As  she  tore  open  the  flap  it  came  to  her  with 
one  of  her  little  flashing  smiles  that  she  could  never 
have  guessed  under  what  circumstances  she  would 
read  it.  By  the  dim  flame  of  a  guttering  candle, 
in  a  cotton  nightgown  borrowed  from  a  Mexican 
menial,  a  prisoner  of  the  very  man  who  had  robbed 
her  and  the  recipient  of  a  practical  confession  of 
love  from  him  not  three  hours  earlier!  Surely 
here  was  a  situation  to  beggar  romance.  But  be- 
fore she  had  finished  reading  the  reality  was  still 
more  unbelievable. 

288 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


I  have  just  met  for  the  first  time  the  woman  I  am  going 
to  marry  if  God  is  good  to  me.  I  am  writing  this  because  I 
want  her  to  know  it  as  soon  as  I  decently  can.  Of  course,  I 
am  not  worthy  of  her,  but  then  I  don't  know  any  man 
that  is. 

So  the  fact  goes — I'm  bound  to  marry  her  if  there's  nobody 
else  in  the  way.  This  isn't  conceit.  It  is  a  deep-seated  cer- 
tainty I  can't  get  away  from,  and  don't  want  to.  When  she 
reads  this,  she  will  think  it  a  piece  of  foolish  presumption. 
My  hope  is  she  will  not  always  think  so.  Her  lover, 

VAL  COLLINS. 

Her  swift-pulsing  heart  was  behaving  very 
queerly.  It  seemed  to  hang  delightfully  still,  and 
then  jump  forward  with  odd  little  beats  of  joy. 
She  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  happy  face,  and  blew 
out  the  light  for  shame,  groping  her  way  back  to 
bed  with  the  letter  carefully  guarded  against  crum- 
pling by  her  hand. 

Foolish  presumption  indeed.  Why,  he  had  only 
seen  her  once,  and  he  said  he  would  marry  her  with 
never  a  by-your-kave !  Wasn't  that  what  he  had 
said?  She  had  to  strike  another  match  to  learn 
the  lines  that  had  not  stuck  word  for  word  in  her 
mind,  and  after  that  another  match  to  get  a  picture 
of  the  scrawl  to  visualize  in  the  dark. 

How  dared  he  take  her  for  granted?  But  what 
a  masterly  way  of  wooing  for  the  right  man !  What 
idiotic  folly  if  he  had  been  the  wrong  one!  Was 
he,  then,  the  right  one?  She  questioned  herself 
closely,  but  came  to  no  more  definite  answer  than 
this—  -/.hat  her  heart  went  glad  with  a  sweet  joy  to 
know  he  wanted  to  marry  her. 

She  resolved  to  put  him  from  her  mind,  and  in 
this  resolve  she  fell  at  last  into  smiling  sleep. 

280 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A   VILLON    OF   THE  DESERT. 

When  Alice  Mackenzie  looked  back  in  after  years 
upon  the  incidents  connected  with  that  ride  to  the 
Rocking  Chair,  it  was  always  with  a  kind  of  glori- 
fied pride  in  her  villain-hero.  He  had  his  moments, 
had  this  twentieth-century  Villon,  when  he  repre- 
sented not  unworthily  the  divinity  in  man;  and  this 
day  held  more  than  one  of  them.  Since  he  was 
what  he  was,  it  also  held  as  many  of  his  black 
moods. 

The  start  was  delayed,  owing  to  a  cause  Leroy 
had  not  foreseen.  When  York  went,  sleepy-eyed, 
to  the  corral  to  saddle  the  ponies,  he  found  the  bars 
into  the  pasture  let  down,  and  the  whole  remuda 
kicking  up  its  heels  in  a  paddock  large  as  a  good- 
sized  city.  The  result  was  that  it  took  two  hours 
to  run  up  the  bunch  of  ponies  and  another  half- 
hour  to  cut  out,  rope,  and  saddle  the  three  that  were 
wanted.  Throughout  the  process  Reilly  sat  on  the 
fence  and  scowled. 

Leroy,  making  an  end  of  slapping  on  and  cinch- 
ing the  last  saddle,  wheeled  suddenly  on  the  Irish- 
man. "What's  the  matter,  Reilly  ?" 

"Was  I  saying  anything  was  the  matter?" 

"You've  been  looking  it  right  hard.  Ain't  you 
290 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


man  enough  to  say  it  instead  of  playing  dirty  little 
three-for-a-cent  tricks — like  letting  down  the  cor- 
ral-bars?" 

Reilly  flung  a  look  at  Neil  that  plainly  demanded 
support,  and  then  descended  with  truculent  defi- 
ance from  the  fence. 

"Who  says  I  let  down  the  bars?  You  bet  I  am 
man  enough  to  say  what  I  think;  and  if  ye  think 
I  ain't  got  the  nerve " 

His  master  encouraged  him  with  ironic  derision. 
"That's  right,  Reilly.  Who's  afraid?  Cough  it 
up  and  show  York  you're  game." 

"By  thunder,  I  am  game.  I've  got  a  kick  corn- 
ing, sorr." 

"Yes?"  Leroy  rolled  and  lit  a  cigarette,  his  black 
eyes  fixed  intently  on  the  malcontent.  "Well,  regis- 
ter it  on  the  jump.  I've  got  to  be  off." 

"That's  the  point."  The  curly-headed  Neil  had 
lounged  up  to  his  comrade's  support.  "Why  have 
you  got  to  be  off?  We  don't  savvy  your  game, 
cap." 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  be  major-domo  of 
this  outfit,  Neil?"  scoffed  his  chief,  eying  him 
scornfully. 

"No,  sir.  I  ain't  aimin'  for  no  such  thing.  But 
we  don't  like  the  way  things  are  shaping.  What 
does  all  this  here  funny  business  mean,  anyhow?" 
His  thumb  jerked  toward  Collins,  already  mounted 
and  waiting  for  Leroy  to  join  him.  "Two  days 
ago  this  world  wasn't  big  enough  to  hold  him  and 

291 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


you.  Well,  I  git  the  drop  on  him,  and  then  you 
begin  to  cotton  up  to  him  right  away.  Big  dinner 
last  night — champagne  corks  popping,  I  hear.  What 
I  want  to  know  is  what  it  means.  And  here's  this 
Miss  Mackenzie.  She's  good  for  a  big  ransom,  but 
I  don't  see  it  ambling  our  way.  It  looks  darned 
funny." 

"That's  the  ticket,  York,"  derided  Leroy.  "Come 
again.  Turn  your  wolf  loose." 

"Oh!  I  ain't  afraid  to  say  what  I  think." 

"I  see  you're  not.  You  should  try  stump-speak- 
ing, my  friend.  There's  a  field  for  you  there." 

"I'm  asking  you  a  question,  Mr.  Leroy." 

"That's  whatever,"  chipped  in  Reilly. 

"Put  a  name  to  it." 

"Well,  I  want  to  know  what's  the  game,  and 
where  we  come  in." 

"Think  you're  getting  the  double-cross?"  asked 
Leroy  pleasantly,  his  vigilant  eyes  covering  them 
like  a  weapon. 

"Now  you're  shouting.  That's  what  I'd  like  right 
well  to  know.  There  he  sits" — with  another  thumb- 
jerk  at  Collins — "and  I'm  a  Chink  if  he  ain't  car- 
ryin'  them  same  two  guns  I  took  offen  him,  one  on 
the  train  and  one  here  the  other  day.  I  ain't  sayin' 
it  ain't  all  right,  cap.  But  what  I  do  say  is — how 
about  it?" 

Leroy  did  some  thinking  out  loud.  "Of  course 
I  might  tell  you  boys  to  go  to  the  devil.  That's 
my  right,  because  you  chose  me  to  run  this  outfit 

292 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


without  any  advice  from  the  rest  of  you.  But 
you're  such  infants,  I  reckon  I  had  better  explain. 
You're  always  worrying  those  fat  brains  of  yours 
with  suspicions.  After  we  stuck  up  the  Limited 
you  couldn't  trust  me  to  take  care  of  the  swag. 
Reilly  here  had  to  cook  up  a  fool  scheme  for  us  all 
to  hide  it  blindfold  together.  I  told  you  straight 
what  would  happen,  and  it  did.  When  Scotty 
crossed  the  divide  we  were  in  a  Jim  Dandy  of  a 
hole.  We  had  to  have  that  paper  of  his  to  find  the 
boodle.  Then  Hardman  gets  caught,  and  coughs 
up  his  little  recipe  for  helping  to  find  hidden  treas- 
ure. Who  gets  them  both  ?  Mr.  Sheriff  Collins,  of 
course.  Then  he  comes  visiting  us.  Not  being  a 
fool,  he  leaves  the  documents  behind  in  a  safety- 
deposit  vault.  Unless  I  can  fix  up  a  deal  with  him, 
Mr.  Reilly's  wise  play  buncoes  us  and  himself  out 
of  thirty  thousand  dollars." 

"Why  don't  you  let  him  send  for  the  papers 
first?" 

"Because  he  won't  do  it.  Threaten  nothing! 
Collins  ain't  that  kind  of  a  hairpin.  He'd  tell  us 
to  shoot  and  be  damned." 

"So  you've  got  it  fixed  with  him?"  demanded 
Neil. 

"You've  a  head  like  a  sheep,  York,"  admired  Le- 
roy.  "You  don't  need  any  brick-wall  hints  to  hit 
you.  As  your  think-tank  has  guessed,  I  have  come 
to  an  understanding  with  Collins." 

293 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"But  the  gyurl — I  allow  the  old  major  would 
come  down  with  a  right  smart  ransom." 

"Wrong  guess,  York.  I  allow  he  would  come 
down  with  a  right  smart  posse  and  wipe  us  off  the 
'face  of  the  earth.  Collins  tells  me  the  major  has 
sent  for  a  couple  of  Apache  trailers  from  the  reser- 
vation. That  means  it's  up  to  us  to  hike  for  Sonora. 
The  only  point  is  whether  we  take  that  buried 
money  with  us  or  leave  it  here.  If  I  make  a  deal 
with  Collins,  we  get  it.  If  I  don't,  it's  somebody 
else's  gold-mine.  Anything  more  the  committee  of 
investigation  would  like  to  know?"  concluded  Le- 
roy,  as  his  cold  eyes  raked  them  scornfully  and  came 
to  rest  on  Reilly. 

"Not  for  mine,"  said  Neil,  with  an  apologetic 
laugh.  "I'm  satisfied.  I  just  wanted  to  know.  And 
I  guess  Cork  corroborates." 

Reilly  growled  something  under  his  breath,  and 
turned  to  hulk  away. 

"One  moment.  You'll  listen  to  me,  now.  You 
have  taken  the  liberty  to  assume  I  was  going  to  sell 
you  out.  I'll  not  stand  that  from  any  man  alive. 
To-morrow  night  I'll  get  back  from  Tucson.  We'll 
dig  up  the  loot  and  divide  it.  And  right  then  we 
quit  company.  You  go  your  way  and  I  go  mine." 
And  with  that  as  a  parting  shot,  Leroy  turned  on 
his  heel  and  went  direct  to  his  horse. 

Alice  Mackenzie  might  have  searched  the  West 
with  a  fine-tooth  comb  and  not  found  elsewhere 
two  such  riders  for  an  escort  as  fenced  her  that 

294 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


day.  Physically  they  were  a  pair  of  superb  animals, 
each  perfect  after  his  fashion.  If  the  fair-haired 
giant,  with  his  lean,  broad  shoulders  and  rippling 
flow  of  muscles,  bulked  more  strikingly  in  a  dis- 
play of  sheer  strength,  the  sinewy,  tigerish  grace  of 
the  dark  Apollo  left  nothing  to  be  desired  to  the 
eye.  Both  of  them  had  been  brought  up  in  the 
saddle,  and  each  was  fit  to  the  minute  for  any  emer- 
gency likely  to  appear. 

But  on  this  pleasant  morning  no  test  of  their 
power  seemed  likely  to  arise,  and  she  could  study 
them  at  her  ease  without  hindrance.  She  had  never 
seen  Leroy  look  more  the  vagabond  enthroned.  For 
dress,  he  wore  the  common  equipment  of  Cattle- 
land — jingling  spurs,  fringed  chaps,  leather  cuffs, 
gray  shirt,  with  kerchief  knotted  loosely  at  the  neck, 
and  revolver  ready  to  his  hand.  But  he  carried 
them  with  an  air,  an  inimitable  grace,  that  marked 
him  for  a  prince  among  his  fellows.  Something  of 
the  kind  she  hinted  to  him  in  jesting  paradoxical 
fashion,  making  an  attempt  to  win  from  his  sar- 
donic gloom  one  of  his  quick,  flashing  smiles. 

He  countered  by  telling  her  what  he  had  heard 
York  say  to  Reilly  of  her.  "She's  a  princess,  Cork," 
York  had  said.  "Makes  my  Epitaph  gyurl  look  like 
a  chromo  beside  her.  Somehow,  when  she  looks 
at  a  fellow,  he  feels  like  a  whitewashed  nigger." 

All  of  them  laughed  at  that,  but  both  Leroy  and 
the  sheriff  tried  to  banter  her  by  insisting  that  they 
kn«w  exactly  what  York  meant. 

295 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


"You  can  be  very  splendid  when  you  want  to  give 
a  man  that  whitewashed  feeling;  he  isn't  right  sure 
whether  he's  on  the  map  or  not,"  reproached  the 
train-robber. 

She  laughed  in  the  slow,  indolent  way  she  had, 
taking  the  straw  hat  from  her  dark  head  to  catch 
better  the  faint  breath  of  wind  that  was  soughing 
across  the  plains. 

"I  didn't  know  I  was  so  terrible.  I  don't  think 
you  ever  had  any  awe  of  anybody,  Mr.  Leroy." 
Her  soft  cheek  flushed  in  unexpected  memory  of 
that  moment  when  he  had  brushed  aside  all  her  mai- 
den reserves  and  ravished  mad  kisses  from  her. 
"And  Mr.  Collins  is  big  enough  to  take  care  of 
himself,"  she  added  hastily,  to  banish  the  unwel- 
come recollection. 

Collins,  with  his  eyes  on  the  light-shot  waves  that 
crowned  her  vivid  face,  wondered  whether  he  was 
or  not.  If  she  had  been  a  woman  to  desire  in  the 
queenly,  half-insolent  indifference  of  manner  with 
which  she  had  first  met  him,  how  much  more  of 
charm  lay  in  this  piquant  gaiety,  in  the  warm  sweet- 
ness of  her  softer  and  more  pliant  mood !  It  seemed 
to  him  she  had- the  gift  of  comradeship  to  perfec- 
tion. 

They  unsaddled  and  ate  lunch  in  the  shade  of  the 
live-oaks  at  El  Dorado  Springs,  which  used  to  be  a 
much-frequented  watering-hole  in  the  days  when 
Camp  Grant  thrived  and  mule-skinners  freighted 
supplies  in  to  feed  Uncle  Sam's  pets.  Two  hours 

296 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


later  they  stopped  again  at  the  edge  of  the  Santa 
Cruz  wash,  two  miles  from  the  Rocking  Chair 
Ranch. 

It  was  while  they  were  resaddling  that  Collins 
caught  sight  of  a  cloud  of  dust  a  mile  or  two  away. 
He  unslung  his  field-glasses,  and  looked  long  at  the 
approaching  dust-swirl.  Presently  he  handed  the 
binoculars  to  Leroy. 

"Five  of  them;  and  that  round-bellied  Papago 
pony  in  front  belongs  to  Sheriff  Forbes,  or  I'm 
away  wrong." 

Leroy  lowered  the  glasses,  after  a  long,  unflur- 
ried  inspection.  "Looks  that  way  to  me.  Expect 
I'd  better  be  burning  the  wind." 

In  a  few  sentences  he  and  Collins  arranged  a 
meeting  for  next  day  up  in  the  hills.  He  trailed 
his  spurs  through  the  dust  toward  Alice  Mackenzie, 
and  offered  her  his  brown  hand  and  wistful  smile 
irresistible.  "Good-by.  This  is  where  you  get 
quit  of  me  for  good." 

"Oh,  I  hope  not,"  she  told  him  impulsively.  "We 
must  always  be  friends." 

He  laughed  ruefully.  "Your  father  wouldn't 
indorse  those  unwise  sentiments,  I  reckon — and 
I'd  hate  to  bet  your  husband  would,"  he  added 
audaciously,  with  a  glance  at  Collins.  "But  I  love 
to  hear  you  say  it,  even  though  we  never  could  be. 
You're  a  right  game,  stanch  little  pardner.  I'll 
back  that  opinion  with  the  lid  off." 

"You  should  b^  a  good  judge  of  those  qualities. 
297 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


I'm  only  sorry  you  don't  always  use  them  in  a  good 
cause." 

He  swung  himself  to  his  saddle.    "Good-by." 

"Good-by — till  we  meet  again." 

"And  that  will  be  never.  So-long,  sheriff.  Tell 
Forbes  I've  got  a  particular  engagement  in  the  hills, 
but  I'll  be  right  glad  to  meet  him  when  he  comes." 

He  rode  up  the  draw  and  disappeared  over  the 
brow  of  the  hillock.  She  caught  another  glimpse 
of  him  a  minute  later  on  the  summit  of  the  hill  be- 
yond. He  waved  a  hand  at  her,  half-turning  in  his 
saddle  as  he  rode. 

Presently  she  lost  him,  but  faintly  the  wind  swept 
back  to  her  a  haunting  snatch  of  uncouth  song: 

"Oh,  bury  me  out  on  the  lone  prairee, 
In  my  narrow  grave  just  six  by  three," 

Were  the  words  drifted  to  her  by  the  wind. 

She  thought  it  pathetically  likely  he  might  get  the 
wish  of  his  song. 

To  Sheriff  Forbes,  dropping  into  the  draw  a  few 
minutes  later  with  his  posse,  Collins  was  a  well  of 
misinformation  literally  true.  Yes,  he  had  followed 
Miss  Mackenzie's  trail  into  the  hills  and  found  her 
at  a  mountain  ranch-house.  She  had  been  there  a 
couple  of  days,  and  was  about  to  set  out  for  the 
Rocking  Chair  with  the  owner  of  the  place,  when  he 
arrived  and  volunteered  to  see  her  as  far  as  her 
uncle's  ranch. 

"I  reckon  there  ain't  any  use  asking  you  if  you 

298 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


seen  anything  of  Wolf  Leroy's  outfit,"  said  Forbes, 
a  weather-beaten  Westerner  with  a  shrewd,  wrin- 
kled face. 

"No,  I  reckon  there's  no  use  asking  me  that,"  re- 
turned Collins,  with  a  laugh  that  deceptively  seemed 
to  include  the  older  man  in  the  joke. 

"We're  after  them  for  rustling  a  bunch  of  Circle 
33  cows.  Well,  I'll  be  moving.  Glad  you  found  the 
lady,  Val.  She  don't  look  none  played  out  from  her 
little  trek  across  the  desert.  Funny,  ain't  it,  how 
she  could  have  wandered  that  far  and  her  afoot?" 

The  Arizona  sun  was  setting  in  its  accustomed 
blaze  of  splendor,  when  Val  Collins  and  Alice 
Mackenzie  put  their  horses  again  toward  the  ranch 
and  the  rainbow-hued  west.  In  his  contented  eyes 
were  reflected  the  sunshine  and  a  serenity  born  of 
life  in  the  wide,  open  spaces.  They  rode  in  silence 
for  long,  the  gentle  evening  breeze  blowing  in 
soughs. 

"Did  you  ever  meet  a  man  of  such  promises  gone 
wrong  so  utterly  ?  He  might  have  been  anything — 
and  it  has  come  to  this,  that  he  is  hunted  like  a 
wild  beast.  I  never  saw  anything  so  pitiful.  I 
would  give  anything  to  save  him." 

He  had  no  need  to  ask  to  whom  she  was  refer- 
ring. "Can't  be  done.  Good  qualities  bulge  out  all 
over  him,  but  they  don't  count  for  anything.  'Un- 
stable as  water.'  That's  what's  the  matter  with  him. 
He  is  the  slave  of  his  own  whims.  Hence  he  is 
only  the  splendid  wreck  of  a  man,  full  of  all  kinds 

299 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


of  rich  outcropping  pay-ore  that  pinch  out  when 
you  try  to  work  them.  They  don't  raise  men  gamer, 
but  that  only  makes  him  a  more  dangerous  foe  to 
society.  Same  with  his  loyalty  and  his  brilliancy. 
He's  got  a  haid  on  him  that  works  like  they  say  old 
J.  E.  B.  Stuart's  did.  He  would  run  into  a  hun- 
dred traps,  but  somehow  he  always  worked  his  men 
out  of  them.  That's  Leroy,  too.  If  he  had  been 
an  ordinary  criminal  he  would  have  been  rounded 
up  years  ago.  It's  his  audacity,  his  iron  nerve,  his 
good  horse-sense  judgment  that  saves  his  skin.  But 
he's  ce'tainly  up  against  it  at  last." 

"You  think  Sheriff  Forbes  will  capture  him?" 

He  laughed.  "I  think  it  more  likely  he'll  capture 
Forbes.  But  we  know  now  where  he  hangs  out, 
and  who  he  is.  He  has  always  been  a  mystery  till 
now.  The  mystery  is  solved,  and  unless  he  strikes 
out  for  Sonora,  Leroy  is  as  good  as  a  dead  man." 

"A  dead  man?" 

"Does  he  strike  you  as  a  man  likely  to  be  taken 
alive?  I  look  to  see  a  dramatic  exit  to  the  sound 
of  cracking  Winchesters." 

"Yes,  that  would  be  like  him,"  she  confessed  with 
a  shudder.  "I  think  he  was  made  to  lead  a  forlorn 
hope.  Pity  it  won't  be  one  worthy  of  the  best  in 
him." 

"I  guess  he  does  have  more  moments  set  to  music 
than  most  of  us,  and  I'll  bet,  too,  he  has  hidden 
away  in  him  a  list  of  'Thou  shalt  nots/  I  read  a 
book  once  by  a  man  named  Stevenson  that  was  sure 

300 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


virgin  gold.  He  showed  how  every  man,  no  mat- 
ter how  low  he  falls,  has  somewhere  in  him  a  light 
that  burns,  some  rag  of  honor  for  which  he  is  still 
fighting.  I'd  hate  to  have  to  judge  Leroy.  Some 
men,  I  reckon,  have  to  buck  against  so  much  in 
themselves  that  even  failure  is  a  kind  of  success  for 
them." 

"Yet  you  will  go  out  to  hunt  him  down?'*  she 
said,  marveling  at  the  broad  sympathy  of  the  man. 

"Sure  I  will.  My  official  duty  is  to  look  out  for 
society.  If  something  in  the  machine  breaks  loose 
and  goes  to  ripping  things  to  pieces,  the  engineer 
has  to  stop  the  damage,  even  if  he  has  to  smash 
the  rod  that's  causing  the  trouble." 

The  ponies  dropped  down  again  into  the  bed  of 
the  wash,  and  plowed  across  through  the  heavy  sand. 
After  they  had  reached  the  solid  road,  Collins  re- 
sumed conversation  at  a  new  point. 

"It's  a  month  and  a  day  since  I  first  met  you, 
Miss  Mackenzie,"  he  said,  apparently  apropos  of 
nothing. 

She  felt  her  blood  begin  to  choke.     "Indeed !" 

"I  gave  you  a  letter  to  read  when  I  was  on 
die  train." 

"A  letter!"  she  exclaimed,  in  well-affected  sur- 
prise. 

"Did  you  think  it  was  a  book  of  poems?  No, 
ma'am,  it  was  a  letter.  You  were  to  read  it  in  a 
month.  Time  was  up  last  night.  I  reckon  you  read 
it." 

301 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"Could  I  read  a  letter  I  left  at  Tucson,  when  I 
was  a  hundred  miles  away?"  she  smiled  with  sweet 
patronage. 

"Not  if  you  left  it  at  Tucson,"  he  assented,  with 
an  answering  smile. 

"Maybe  I  did  lose  it."  She  frowned,  trying  to  re- 
member. 

"Then  I'll  have  to  tell  you  what  was  in  it." 

"Any  time  will  do.  I  dare  say  it  wasn't  im- 
portant." 

"Then  we'll  say  this  time." 

"Don't  be  stupid,  Mr.  Collins.  I  want  to  talk 
about  our  desert  Villon." 

"I  said  in  that  letter " 

She  put  her  pony  to  a  canter,  and  they  galloped 
side  by  side  in  silence  for  half  a  mile.  After  she 
had  slowed  down  to  a  walk,  he  continued  placidly, 
as  if  oblivious  of  an  interruption: 

"I  said  in  that  letter  that  I  had  just  met  the  young 
lady  I  was  expecting  to  marry." 

"Dear  me,  how  interesting!  Was  she  in  the 
smoker  ?" 

"No,  she  was  in  Section  3  of  the  Pullman." 

"I  wish  I  had  happened  to  go  into  the  other 
Pullman,  but,  of  course,  I  couldn't  know  the  young 
lady  you  were  interested  in  was  riding  there." 

"She  wasn't." 

"But  you've  just  told  me " 

"That  I  said  in  the  letter  you  took  so  much 
trouble  to  lose  that  I  expected  to  marry  the  young 

302 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


woman  passing  under  the  name  of  Miss  Wain- 
wright." 

"Sir!" 

"That  I  expected " 

"Really,  I  am  not  deaf,  Mr.  Collins." 

" expected  to  marry  her,  just  as  soon  as  she 

was  willing." 

"Oh,  she  is  to  be  given  a  voice  in  the  matter,  is 
she?" 

"Ce'tainly,  ma'am." 

"And  when?" 

"Well,  I  had  been  thinking  now  was  a  right  good 
time." 

"It  can't  be  too  soon  for  me,"  she  flashed  back, 
sweeping  him  with  proud,  indignant  eyes. 

"But  I  ain't  so  sure.  I  rather  think  I'd  better 
wait." 

"No,  no !  Let  us  have  it  done  with  once  and  for 
all." 

He  relapsed  into  a  serene,  abstracted  silence. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  speak?"  she  flamed. 

"I've  decided  to  wait." 

"Well,  /  haven't.  Ask  me  this  minute,  sir,  to 
marry  )^ou." 

"Ce'tainly,  if  you  cay  n't  wait.  Miss  Mackenzie, 
will  you " 

"No,  sir,  I  won't — not  if  you  were  the  last  man 
on  earth,"  she  interrupted  hotly,  whipping  herself 
into  a  genuine  rage.  "I  never  was  so  insulted  in 
my  life.  It  would  be  ridiculous  if  it  weren't  so — 

303 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


so  outrageous.  You  expect,  do  you?  And  it  isn't 
conceit,  but  a  deep-seated  certainty  you  can't  get 
away  from." 

He  had  her  fairly.  "Then  you  did  read  the  let- 
ter." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  read  it — and  for  sheer,  unmatched 
impudence  I  have  never  seen  its  like." 

"Now,  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  you  really 
think,"  he  drawled. 

Not  being  able,  for  reasons  equestrian,  to  stamp 
her  foot,  she  gave  her  bronco  the  spur. 

When  Collins  again  found  conversation  practic- 
able, the  Rocking  Chair,  a  white  adobe  huddle  in 
the  moonlight,  lay  peacefully  beneath  them  in  the 
valley. 

"It's  a  right  quaint  old  ranch,  and  it's  seen  a 
heap  of  rough-and-tumble  life  in  its  day.  If  those 
old  adobe  bricks  could  tell  stories,  I  expect  they 
would  put  some  of  these  romances  out  of  business." 

Miss  Mackenzie's  covert  glance  questioned  sus- 
piciously what  this  diversion  might  mean. 

"All  this  country's  interesting.  Take  Tucson  now. 
That  burg  is  loaded  to  the  roofs  with  live  stories. 
It's  an  all-right  business  town,  too — the  best  in  the 
territory,"  he  continued  patriotically.  "She  ain't  so 
great  as  Douglas  on  ore  or  as  Phcenix  on  lungers, 
but  when  it  comes  to  the  git-up-and-git  hustle,  she's 
there  rounding  up  the  trade  from  early  morn  till 
dine." 

He  was  still  expatiating  in  a  monologue  with 

304 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


grave  enthusiasm  on  the  town  of  his  choice,  when 
they  came  to  the  pasture  fence  of  the  ranch. 

"Some  folks  don't  like  it— call  it  adobe-town,  and 
say  it's  full  of  greasers.  Everybody  to  his  taste,  I 
say.  Little  old  Tucson  is  good  enough  for  me." 

She  gave  a  queer  little  laugh  as  he  talked.  She 
iad  put  a  taboo  on  his  love  story  herself,  but  she 
resented  the  perfectly  unmoved  good  humor  with 
which  he  seemed  to  be  accepting  her  verdict.  She 
made  up  her  mind  to  punish  him,  but  he  gave  her 
no  chance.  As  he  helped  her  to  dismount,  he  said : 

"I'll  take  the  horses  round  to  the  stable,  Miss 
Mackenzie.  Probably  I  won't  see  you  again  before 
I  leave,  but  I'm  hoping  to  meet  you  again  in  Tucson 
one  of  these  days.  Good-by." 

She  nodded  a  curt  good-by  and  passed  into  the 
house.  She  was  vexed  and  indignant,  but  had  too 
strong  a  sense  of  humor  not  to  enjoy  a  joke  even 
when  it  was  against  herself. 

"I  forgot  to  ask  him  whether  he  loves  me  or  Tuc- 
son more,  and  as  one  of  the  subjects  seems  to  be 
closed  I'll  probably  never  find  out,"  she  told  her- 
self, but  with  a  queer  little  tug  of  pain  in  her  laugh- 
ter. 

Next  moment  she  was  in  the  arms  of  her  father. 


305 


CHAPTER  XX. 

BACK    TO   GOD'S    COUNTRY. 

To  minimize  the  risk,  Megales  and  Carlo  left  the 
prison  by  the  secret  passage,  following  the  fork  to 
the  river  bank  and  digging  at  the  piled-up  sand  till 
they  had  forced  an  exit.  O'Halloran  met  them  here 
with  horses,  and  the  three  men  followed  the  river- 
wash  beyond  the  limits  of  the  town  and  cut  across 
by  a  trail  to  a  siding  on  the  Central  Mexican  Pacific 
tracks.  The  Irishman  was  careful  to  take  no 
chances,  and  kept  his  party  in  the  mesquit  till  the 
headlight  of  an  approaching  train  was  visible. 

It  drew  up  at  the  siding,  and  the  three  men 
boarded  one  of  the  two  cars  which  composed  it. 
The  coach  next  the  engine  was  occupied  by  a  dozen 
trusted  soldiers,  who  had  formerly  belonged  to  the 
bodyguard  of  Megales.  The  last  car  was  a  private 
one,  and  in  it  the  three  found  Henderson,  Bucky 
O'Connor,  and  his  little  friend,  the  latter  still  garbed 
as  a  boy. 

Frances  was  exceedingly  eager  to  don  again  the 
clothes  proper  to  her  sex,  and  she  had  promised 
herself  that,  once  habited  as  she  desired,  nothing 
could  induce  her  ever  to  masquerade  again.  Until 
she  met  and  fell  in  love  with  the  ranger  she  had 
thought  nothing  of  it,  since  it  had  been  merely  a 

306 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


matter  of  professional  business  to  which  she  had 
been  forced.  Indeed,  she  had  sometimes  enjoyed 
the  humor  of  the  deception.  It  had  lent  a  spice  of 
enjoyment  to  a  life  not  crowded  with  it.  But  after 
she  met  Bucky  there  had  grown  up  in  her  a  new 
sensitiveness.  She  wanted  to  be  womanly,  to  forget 
her  turbid  past  and  the  shifts  to  which  she  had 
sometimes  been  put.  She  had  been  a  child ;  she  was 
now  a  woman.  She  wanted  to  be  one  of  whom  he 
need  be  in  no  way  ashamed. 

When  their  train  began  to  pull  out  of  the  depot 
at  Chihuahua  she  drew  a  deep  sigh  of  relief. 

"It's  good  to  get  away  from  here  back  to  the 
States.  I'm  tir^d  of  plots  and  counterplots.  For 
the  rest  of  my  life  I  want  to  be  just  a  woman/'  she 
said  to  Bucky. 

The  young  man  smiled.  "I  reckon  I  must  quit 
trying  to  make  you  a  gentleman.  Fact  is,  I  don't 
want  you  to  be  one  any  more." 

She  slanted  a  look  at  him  to  see  what  that  might 
mean  and  another  up  the  car  to  make  sure  that 
Henderson  was  out  of  hearing. 

"It  was  rather  hopeless,  wasn't  it?"  she  smiled. 
"We'll  do  pretty  well  if  we  succeed  in  making  me 
a  lady  in  course  of  time.  I've  a  lot  to  learn,  you 
know." 

"Well,  you  got  lots  of  time  to  learn  it,"  he  re- 
plied cheerfully.  "And  I've  got  a  notion  tucked 
away  in  the  back  of  my  haid  that  you  haven't  got 
such  a  heap  to  study  up.  Mrs.  Mackenzie  will  put 

307 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


you  next  to  the  etiquette  wrinkles  where  you  are 
shy." 

A  shadow  fell  on  the  piquant,  eager  face  beside 
him.  "Do  you  think  she  will  love  me?" 

"I  don't  think.     I  know.     She  can't  help  it." 

"Because  she  is  my  mother?  Oh,  I  hope  that 
is  true." 

"No,  not  only  because  she  is  your  mother." 

She  decided  to  ask  for  no  more  reasons.  Hen- 
derson, pleased  at  the  wide  stretch  of  plain  as  only 
one  who  had  missed  the  open  air  for  many  years 
could  be,  was  on  the  observation  platform  in  the 
rear  of  the  car,  one  glance  at  his  empty  seat  showed 
her.  There  was  no  safety  for  her  shyness  in  the 
presence  of  that  proverbial  three  which  makes  a 
crowd,  and  she  began  to  feel  her  heart  again  in 
panic  as  once  before.  She  took  at  once  the  opening 
he  had  given. 

"I  do  need  a  mother  so  much,  after  growing  up 
like  Topsy  all  these  years.  And  mine  is  the  dearest 
woman  in  the  world.  I  fell  in  love  with  her  before, 
and  I  did  not  know  who  she  was  when  I  was  at 
the  ranch." 

"I'll  agree  to  the  second  dearest  in  the  world, 
but  I  reckon  you  shoot  too  high  when  you  say  the 
plumb  dearest." 

"She  is.  We'll  quarrel  if  you  don't  agree,"  trying 
desperately  to  divert  him  from  the  topic  she  knew 
he  meant  to  pursue.  For  in  the  past  two  days  he 
had  been  so  busy  helping  O'Halloran  that  he  had 

308 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


not  even  had  a  glimpse  of  her.  As  a  consequence  of 
which  each  felt  half -dubious  of  the  other's  love,  and 
Frances  felt  wholly  shy  about  expressing  her  own 
or  even  listening  to  his. 

"Well,  we're  due  for  a  quarrel,  I  reckon.  But 
we'll  postpone  it  till  we  got  more  time  to  give  it." 
He  drew  a  watch  from  his  pocket  and  glanced  at  it. 
"In  less  than  fifteen  minutes  Mike  and  our  two 
friends  who  are  making  their  getaway  will  come 
in  that  door  Henderson  just  went  out  of.  That 
means  we  won't  get  a  chance  to  be  alone  together 
for  about  two  days.  I've  got  something  to  say  to 
you,  Curly  Haid,  that  won't  keep  that  long  with- 
out running  my  temperature  clear  up.  So  I'm  al- 
lowing to  say  it  right  now  immediate.  No,  you 
don't  need  to  turn  them  brown  appealers  on  me. 
It  won't  do  a  mite  of  good.  It's  Bucky  to  the  bat, 
and  he's  bound  to  make  a  hit  or  strike  out." 

"I  think  I  hear  Mr.  Henderson  coming,"  mur- 
mured Frances,  for  lack  of  something  more  effective 
to  say. 

"Not  him.  He's  hogtied  to  the  scenery  long 
enough  to  do  my  business.  Now,  it  won't  take  me 
long  if  I  get  off  right  foot  first.  You  read  my 
letter,  you  said?" 

"Which  letter?"  She  was  examining  attentively 
the  fringe  of  the  sash  she  wore. 

"Why,  honey,  that  love-letter  I  wrote  you.  If 
there  was  more  than  one  it  must  have  been  wrote 
m  my  sleep,  for  I  ce'tainly  disremember  it." 

309 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


He  could  just  hear  her  confused  answer :  "Oh, 
yes,  I  read  that.  I  told  you  that  before." 

"What  did  you  think  ?    Tell  me  again." 

"I  thought  you  misspelled  feelings." 

"You  don't  say.  Now,  ain't  that  too  bad?  But, 
girl  o'  mine,  I  expect  you  were  able  to  make  it  out, 
even  if  I  did  get  the  letters  to  milling  around  wrong. 
I  meant  them  feelings  all  right.  Outside  of  the 
spelling,  did  you  have  any  objections  to  them, 
Curly?" 

"How  can  I  remember  what  you  wrote  in  that 
letter  several  days  ago?" 

"I'll  bet  you  know  it  by  heart,  honey,  and,  if 
you  don't,  you'll  find  it  in  your  inside  vest  pocket, 
tucked  away  right  clost  to  your  heart." 

"It  isn't,"  she  denied,  with  a  blush. 

"Sho!  Pinned  to  your  shirt  then,  little  pardner. 
I  ain't  particular  which.  Point  is,  if  you  need  to  re- 
fresh that  ailin'  memory  of  yours,  the  document  is 
right  handy.  But  you  don't  need  to.  It  just  says 
one  little  sentence  over  and  over  again.  All  you 
have  got  to  do  is  to  say  one  little  word,  and  you 
don't  have  to  say  it  but  once." 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  her  lips  voiced. 

"You  understand  me  all  right.  What  my  letter 
said  was :  'I  love  you/  and  what  you  have  got  to 
say  is:  'Yes/" 

"But  that  doesn't  mean  anything." 

"I'll  make  out  the  meaning  when  you  say  it." 

"Do  I  have  to  say  it?" 

310 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"You  have  to  if  you  feel  it." 

Slowly  the  big  brown  eyes  came  up  to  meet  his 
bravely.  "Yes,  Bucky." 

He  caught  her  hands  and  looked  down  into  her 
pure,  sweet  soul. 

"I'm  in  luck/'  he  breathed  deeply.  "In  golden 
luck  to  have  you  look  at  me  twice.  Are  you  sure?" 

"Sure.  I  loved  you  that  first  day  I  met  you. 
I've  loved  you  every  day  since,"  she  confessed  sim- 
ply. 

Full  on  the  lips  he  kissed  her. 

"Then  we'll  be  married  as  soon  as  we  reach  the 
Rocking  Chair." 

"But  you  once  said  you  didn't  want  to  be  my 
husband,"  she  taunted  sweetly.  "Don't  you  remem- 
ber? In  the  days  when  we  were  gipsies." 

"I've  changed  my  mind.  I  want  to,  and  I'm  in 
a  hurry." 

She  shook  her  head.  "No,  dear.  We  shall  have 
to  wait.  It  wouldn't  be  fair  to  my  mother  to  lose 
me  just  as  soon  as  she  finds  me.  It  is  her  right 
to  get  acquainted  with  me  just  as  if  I  belonged  to 
feer  alone.  You  understand  what  I  mean,  Bucky. 
She  must  not  feel  as  if  she  never  had  found  me,  as 
if  she  never  had  been  first  with  me.  We  can  love 
each  other  more  simply  if  she  doesn't  know  about 
you.  We'll  have  it  for  a  secret  for  a  month  or 
two." 

She  put  her  little  hand  on  his  arm  appealingly 
to  win  his  consent.  His  eyes  rested  on  it  curiously. 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


Then  he  took  it  in  his  big  brown  one  and  turned  it 
palm  up.  Its  delicacy  and  perfect  finish  moved  him, 
for  it  seemed  to  him  that  in  the  contrast  between 
the  two  hands  he  saw  in  miniature  the  difference  of 
sex.  His  showed  strength  and  competency  and  the 
roughness  that  comes  of  the  struggle  of  life.  But 
hers  was  strangely  tender  and  confiding,  compact 
of  the  qualities  that  go  to  make  up  the  strength  of 
the  weak.  Surely  he  deserved  the  worst  if  he  was 
not  good  to  her,  a  shield  and  buckler  against  the 
storms  that  must  beat  against  them  in  the  great  ad- 
venture they  were  soon  to  begin  together. 

Reverently  he  raised  the  little  hand  and  kissed  its 
palm. 

"Sure,  sweetheart.  I  had  forgotten  about  your 
mother's  claim.  We  can  wait,  I  reckon,"  he  added, 
with  a  smile.  "You  must  always  set  me  straight 
when  I  lose  the  trail  of  what's  right,  Curly  Haid. 
You  are  to  be  a  guiding-star  to  me." 

"And  you  to  me.    Oh,  Bucky,  isn't  it  good?" 

He  kissed  her  again  hurriedly,  for  the  train  was 
jarring  to  a  halt.  Before  he  could  answer  in  words, 
O'Halloran  burst  into  the  coach,  at  the  head  of  his 
little  company. 

"All  serene,  Bucky.  This  is  the  last  scene,  and 
the  show  went  without  a  hitch  in  the  performance 
anywhere." 

Bucky  smiled  at  Frances  as  he  answered  his  en- 
thusiastic friend: 

"That's  right.     Not  a  hitch  anywhere." 
312 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"And  say,  Bucky,  who  do  you  think  is  in  the 
other  coach  dressed  as  one  of  the  guards  ?" 

"Colonel  Roosevelt/'  the  ranger  guessed 
promptly. 

"Our  friend  Chaves.  He's  escaping  because  he 
thinks  we'll  have  him  assassinated  in  revenge,"  the 
big  Irishman  returned  gleefully.  "You  should  have 
seen  his  color,  me  bye,  when  he  caught  sight  of  me. 
I  asked  him  if  he'd  been  rejuced  to  the  ranks,  and 
he  begged  me  not  to  tell  you  he  was  here.  Go  in 
and  devil  him." 

Bucky  glanced  at  his  lover.  "No,  I'm  so  plumb 
contented  I  haven't  the  heart." 


At  the  Rocking  Chair  Ranch  there  was  bustle 
and  excitement.  Mexicans  scrubbed  and  scoured 
under  the  direction  of  Alice  and  Mrs.  Mackenzie, 
and  vaqueros  rode  hither  and  thither  on  bootless 
errands  devised  by  their  nervous  master.  For  late 
that  morning  a  telephone  call  from  Aravaipa  had 
brought  Webb  to  the  receiver  to  listen  to  a  tele- 
gram. The  message  was  from  Bucky,  then  on  the 
train  on  his  way  home. 

"The  best  of  news.  Reach  the  Rocking  Chair  to- 
night." 

That  was  the  message  which  had  disturbed  the 
serenity  of  big  Webb  Mackenzie  and  had  given  to 
the  motherly  heart  of  his  wife  an  unusual  flutter. 
The  best  of  news  it  could  not  be,  for  the  ranger  had 

'313 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


already  written  them  of  the  confession  of  Ander- 
son, which  included  the  statement  of  the  death  of 
their  little  daughter.     But  at  least  he  might  bring 
the  next  best  news,  information  that  David  Hender-  ( 
son  was  free  at  last  and  his  long  martyrdom  ended. 

So  all  day  hurried  preparations  were  being  made 
to  receive  the  honored  guests  with  a  fitting  welcome. 
The  Rocking  Chair  was  a  big  ranch,  and  its  hos- 
pitality was  famous  all  over  the  Southwest.  It 
was  quite  unnecessary  to  make  special  efforts  to 
entertain,  but  Webb  and  his  wife  took  that  means 
of  relieving  the  strain  on  them  till  night. 

Higher  crept  the  hot  sun  of  baked  Arizona.  It 
passed  the  zenith  and  began  to  descend  toward  the 
purple  hills  in  the  west,  went k behind  them  with  a 
great  rainbow  splash  of  brilliancy  peculiar  to  that 
country.  Dusk  came,  and  died va way  in  the  midst  of 
a  love-concert  of  quails.  Velvet  night,  with  its 
myriad  stars,  entranced  the  land  and  made  magic  of 
its  hills  and  valleys. 

For  the  fiftieth  time  Webb  dragged  out  his  watch 
and  consulted  it. 

"I  wish  that  young  man  had  let  us  know  which 
way  he  was  coining,  so  I  could  go  and  meet  them. 
If  they  come  by  the  river  they  should  be  in  the  Box 
Canon  by  this  time.  But  if  I  was  to  ride  out,  like 
as  not  they  would  come  by  the  mesa,"  he  sputtered. 

"What  time  is  it,  Webb?"  asked  his  wife,  scarcely 
less  excited. 

He  had  to  look  again,  so  absent-minded  had  been 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


his  last  glance  at  the  watch.  "Nine-fifteen.  Why 
didn't  I  telephone  to  Rogers  and  ask  him  to  find  out 
which  way  they  were  coming?  Sometimes  I'm 
mighty  thick-headed." 

As  Mackenzie  had  guessed,  the  party  was  wind- 
ing its  way  through  the  Box  Canon  at  that  time  of 
speaking.  Bucky  and  Frances  led  the  way,  followed 
by  Henderson  and  the  vaquero  whom  Mackenzie 
had  telephoned  to  guide  them  from  Aravaipa. 

"I  reckon  this  night  was  made  for  us,  Curly 
Haid.  Even  good  old  Arizona  never  turned  out 
such  a  one  before.  I  expect  it  was  ordered  for  us 
ever  since  it  was  decided  we  belonged  to  each  other. 
That  may  have  been  thousands  of  years  ago." 
Bucky  laughed,  to  relieve  the  tension,  and  looked 
up  at  the  milky  way  above.  "We're  like  those  stars, 
honey.  All  our  lives  we  have  been  drifting  around, 
but  all  the  time  it  had  been  decided  by  the  God-of- 
things-as-they-are  that  our  orbits  were  going  to  run 
together  and  gravitate  into  the  same  one  when  the 
right  time  came.  It  has  come  now." 

"Yes,  Bucky,"  she  answered  softly.  "We  belong, 
dear." 

"Hello,  here's  the  end  of  the  canon.  The  ranch 
lies  right  behind  that  spur." 

"Does  it?"  Presently  she  added:  "I'm  all 
a-tremble,  Bucky.  To  think  I'm  going  to  meet  my 
father  and  my  mother  for  the  first  time  really,  for 
I  don't  count  that  other  time  when  we  didn't  know. 
Suppose  they  shouldn't  like  me." 

315 


BUCKY    O'CONNOR 


"Impossible.  Suppose  something  reasonable," 
her  lover  replied. 

"But  they  might  not.  You  think,  you  silly  boy, 
that  because  you  do  everybody  must.  But  I'm  so 
glad  I'm  clothed  and  in  my  right  mind  again.  I 
couldn't  have  borne  to  meet  my  mother  with  that 
boy's  suit  on.  Do  you  think  I  look  nice  in  this? 
I  had  to  take  what  I  could  find  ready-made,  you 
know." 

Unless  his  eyes  were  blinded  by  the  glamour  of 
love,  he  saw  the  sweetest  vision  of  loveliness  he  had 
known.  Such  a  surpassing  miracle  of  soft,  dainty 
curves,  such  surplusage  of  beauty  in  bare  throat, 
speaking  eye,  sweet  mouth,  and  dimpled  cheeks! 
But  Bucky  was  a  lover,  and  perhaps  no  fair  judge, 
for  in  that  touch  of  vagueness,  of  fairy-land,  lent 
by  the  moonlight,  he  found  the  world  almost  too 
beautiful  to  believe.  Did  she  look  nice?  How  beg- 
garly words  were  to  express  feelings,  after  all. 

The  vaquero  with  them  rode  forward  and  pointed 
to  the  valley  below,  where  the  ranch-house  hud- 
dled in  a  pellucid  sea  of  moonlight. 

'That's  the  Rocking  Chair,  sir." 

Presently  there  came  a  shout  from  the  ranch,  and 
a  man  galloped  toward  them.  He  passed  Bucky 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand  and  made  directly  for  Hen- 
derson. 

"Dave!  Dave,  old  partner,"  he  cried,  leaping 
from  his  horse  and  catching  the  other's  hand. 
"After  all  these  years  you've  risen  from  the  dead 

316 


BUCKY    O'CONNOR 


and  come  back  to  me."  His  voice  was  broken  with 
emotion. 

"Come !  Let's  canter  forward  to  the  ranch,"  said 
Bucky  to  Frances  and  the  vaquero,  thinking  it  best 
to  leave  the  two  old  comrades  together  for  a  while. 

Mrs.  Mackenzie  and  Alice  met  them  at  the  gate. 
"Did  you  bring  him?  Did  you  bring  Dave?"  the 
older  lady  asked  eagerly. 

"Yes,  we  brought  him,"  answered  Bucky,  help- 
ing Frances  to  dismount. 

He  led  the  girl  to  her  mother.  "Mrs.  Mackenzie, 
can  you  stand  good  news?" 

She  caught  at  the  gate.  "What  news?  Who 
is  this  lady?" 

"Her  name  is  Frances." 

"Frances  what?" 

"Frances  Mackenzie.  She  is  your  daughter,  re- 
turned, after  all  these  years,  to  love  and  be  loved." 

The  mother  gave  a  little  throat  cry,  steadied  her- 
self, and  fell  into  the  arms  of  her  daughter.  "Oh, 
my  baby!  My  baby!  Found  at  last." 

Quietly  Bucky  slipped  away  to  the  stables  with 
the  ponies.  As  quietly  Alice  disappeared  into  the 
house.  This  was  sacred  ground,  and  not  even  their 
feet  should  rest  on  it  just  now. 

When  Bucky  returned  to  the  house,  he  found  his 
sweetheart  sitting  between  her  father  and  mother, 
each  of  whom  was  holding  one  of  her  hands.  Hen- 
derson had  retired  to  clean  himself  up.  Happy 
tears  were  coursing  down  the  cheeks  of  the  mother, 

317 


BUCKY    O'CONNOR 


and  Webb  found  it  necessary  'to  blow  his  nose  iiic- 
quently.     He  jumped  up  at  sight  of  the  ranger. 

"Young  man,  you're  to  blame  for  this.  You've 
found  my  friend  and  you've  found  my  daughter. 
Brought  them  both  back  to  us  on  the  same  day. 
What  do  you  want?  Name  it,  and  it's  yours,  if 
I  can  give  it." 

Bucky  looked  at  Frances  with  a  smile  in  his  eyes. 
He  knew  very  well  what  he  wanted,  but  he  was 
under  bonds  not  to  name  it  yet. 

"I'll  set  you  up  in  the  cattle  business,  sir.  I'll 
buy  you  sheep,  if  you  prefer.  I'll  get  you  an  in- 
terest in  a  mine.  Put  a  name  to  what  you  want." 

"I'm  no  robber.  You  paid  the  expenses  of  my 
trip.  That's  all  I  want  right  now." 

"It's  not  all  you'll  get.  Do  you  think  I'm  a  cheap 
piker?  No,  sir.  You've  got  to  let  me  grub-stake 
you."  Mackenzie  thumped  a  clinched  fist  down  on 
the  table. 

"All  right,  seh.  You're  the  doctor.  Give  me  an 
interest  in  that  map  and  I'll  prospect  the  mine  this 
summer,  if  I  can  locate  it." 

"Good  enough,  and  I'll  finance  the  proposition. 
You  and  Dave  can  take  half-shares  in  the  property. 
In  the  meantime,  are  you  open  to  an  engagement  ?" 

"Depends  what  it  is,"  replied  Bucky  cautiously. 

"My  foreman's  quit  on  me.  Gone  into  business 
for  himself.  I'm  looking  for  a  good  man.  Will 
you  be  my  major-domo?" 

Bucky 's  heart  leaped.     He  had  been  thinking  of 

318 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


how  he  must  report  almost  immediately  to  Hurry- 
Up  Millikan,  of  the  rangers.  Now,  he  could  re- 
sign from  that  body  and  stay  near  his  love.  Cer- 
tainly things  were  coming  his  way. 

"I'd  like  to  try  it,  seh,"  he  answered.  "I  may 
not  make  good,  but  I  sure  would  like  to  have  a 
chance  at  it." 

"Make  good!  Of  course  you'll  make  good. 
You're  the  best  man  in  Arizona,  sir,"  cried  Webb 
extravagantly.  He  wheeled  on  his  new-found 
daughter.  "Don't  you  think  so,  Frankie?" 

Frances  blushed,  but  answered  bravely:  "Yes, 
sir.  He  makes  everything  right  when  he  takes  hold 
of  it." 

"Good.  We're  not  going  to  let  him  get  away 
from  us  after  making  us  so  happy,  are  we,  mother? 
This  young  man  is  going  to  stay  right  here.  We 
never  had  but  one  son,  and  we  are  going  to  treat 
him  as  much  like  one  as  we  can.  Eh,  mother?" 

"If  he  will  consent,  Webb."  She  went  up  to 
the  ranger  and  kissed  his  tanned  cheek.  "You  must 
pardon  an  old  woman  whom  you've  made  very 
happy." 

Again  Bucky's  laughing  blue  eyes  met  the  brown 
ones  of  his  sweetheart. 

"Oh,  I'll  consent,  all  right,  and  I  reckon,  ma'am, 
it's  mighty  good  of  you  to  treat  me  so  white.  I'll 
sure  try  to  please  you." 

Webb  thumped  him  on  the  back.     "Now,  you're 


BUCKY    O'CONNOR 


shouting.  We  want  you  to  be  one  of  us,  young 
man." 

Once  more  that  happy,  wireless  message  of  eyes 
followed  by  O'Connor's  assent.  "That's  what  I 
want  myself,  seh." 

Bucky  found  a  surprise  waiting  for  him  at  the 
stables.  A  heavy  hand  descended  upon  his  shoul- 
der. He  whirled,  and  looked  up  into  the  face  of 
Sheriff  Collins. 

"You  here,  Val?"  he  cried  in  surprise. 

"That's  what.     Any  luck,  Bucky?" 

They  went  out  and  sat  down  on  the  big  rocks 
back  of  the  corral.  Here  each  told  the  other  his 
story,  with  certain  reservations.  Collins  had  just 
got  back  from  Epitaph,  where  he  had  been  to  get 
the  fragments  of  paper  which  told  the  secret  of  the 
buried  treasure.  He  was  expecting  to  set  out  in  the 
early  morning  to  meet  Leroy. 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Bucky  immediately. 

Val  shook  his  head.  "No,  I'm  to  go  alone. 
That's  the  agreement." 

"Of  course  if  that's  the  agreement."  Neverthe- 
less, the  ranger  formed  a  private  intention  not  to 
be  far  from  the  scene  of  action. 


320 


CHAPTER  XXL 

THE  WOLF  PACK. 

"Good  evening,  gentlemen.  Hope  I  don't  intrude 
on  the  festivities." 

Leroy  smiled  down  ironically  on  the  four  flushed, 
startled  faces  that  looked  up  at  him.  Suspicion  was 
alive  in  every  rustle  of  the  men's  clothes.  It 
breathed  from  the  lowering  countenances.  It  itched 
at  the  fingers  longing  for  the  trigger.  The  unend- 
ing terror  of  a  bandit's  life  is  that  no  man  trusts 
his  fellow.  Hence  one  betrays  another  for  fear  of 
betrayal,  or  stabs  him  in  the  back  to  avoid  it. 

The  outlaw  chief  had  slipped  into  the  room  so 
silently  that  the  first  inkling  they  had  of  his  pres- 
ence was  that  gentle,  insulting  voice.  Now,  as  he 
lounged  easily  before  them,  leg  thrown  over  the 
back  of  a  chair  and  thumbs  sagging  from  his 
trouser  pockets,  they  looked  the  picture  of  school- 
boys caught  by  their  master  in  a  conspiracy.  How 
long  had  he  been  there  ?  How  much  had  he  heard  ? 
Full  of  suspicion  and  bad  whisky  as  they  were,  his 
confident  contempt  still  cowed  the  very  men  who 
were  planning  his  destruction.  A  minute  before 
they  had  been  full  of  loud  threats  and  boastings; 
now  they  could  only  search  each  other's  faces  sul- 
lenly for  a  cue. 

321 


BUCKY    O'CONNOR 


"Celebrating  Chaves'  return  from  manana  land, 
I  reckon.  That's  the  proper  ticket.  I  wonder  if 
we  couldn't  afford  to  kill  another  of  Collins'  fatted 
calves." 

Mr.  Hardman,  not  enjoying  the  derisive  raillery, 
took  a  hand  in  the  game.  "I  expect  the  boys  hadn't 
better  touch  the  sheriff's  calves,  now  you  and  him 
are  so  thick." 

"We're  thick,  are  we  ?"  Leroy's  indolent  eyes  nar- 
rowed slightly  as  they  rested  on  him. 

"Ain't  you  ?  It  sure  seemed  that  way  to  me  when 
I  looked  out  of  that  mesquit  wash  just  above  El- 
dorado Springs  and  seen  you  and  him  eating  to- 
gether like  brothers  and  laughing  to  beat  the  band. 
You  was  so  clost  to  him  I  couldn't  draw  a  bead 
on  him  without  risking  its  hitting  you." 

"Spying,  eh?" 

"If  that's  the  word  you  want  to  use,  cap.  And 
you  were  enjoying  yourselves  proper." 

"Laughing,  were  we?  That  must  have  been 
when  he  told  me  how  funny  you  looked  in  the  'al- 
together' shedding  false  teeth  and  information 
about  hidden  treasure." 

"Told  you  that,  did  he?"  Mr.  Hardman  incon- 
tinently dropped  repartee  as  a  weapon  too  subtle, 
and  fell  back  on  profanity. 

"That's  right  pat  to  the  minute,  cap,  what  you 
say  about  the  information  he  leaks,"  put  in  Neil. 
"How  about  that  information?  I'll  be  plumb  tick- 

322 


BUCKY    O'CONNOR 


led  to  death  to  know  you're  carrying  it  in  your 
vest  pocket." 

"And  if  I'm  not?" 

"Then  ye  are  a  bigger  fool  than  I  had  expected, 
sorr,  to  come  back  here  at  all,"  said  the  Irishman 
truculently. 

"I  begin  to  think  so  myself,  Mr.  Reijly.  Why 
keep  faith  with  a  set  of  swine  like  you?" 

"Are  you  giving  it  to  us  that  you  haven't  got 
those  papers?" 

Leroy  nodded,  watching  them  with  steady,  alert 
eyes.  He  knew  he  stood  on  the  edge  of  a  volcano 
that  might  explode  at  any  moment. 

"What  did  I  tell  yez?"  Reilly  turned  savagely 
to  the  other  disaffected  members  of  the  gang. 
"Didn't  I  tell  yez  he  was  selling  us  out?" 

Somehow  Leroy's  revolver  seemed  to  jump  to 
his  hand  without  a  motion  on  his  part.  It  lay 
loosely  in  his  limp  fingers,  unaimed  and  undirected. 

"Say  that  again,  please." 

Beneath  the  velvet  of  Leroy's  voice  ran  a  note 
more  deadly  than  any  threat  could  have  been.  It 
rang  a  bell  for  a  silence  in  which  the  clock  of  death 
seemed  to  tick.  But  as  the  seconds  fled  Reilly's 
courage  oozed  away.  He  dared  not  accept  the  in- 
vitation to  reach  for  his  weapon  and  try  conclu- 
sions with  this  debonair  young  daredevil.  He  mum- 
bled a  retraction,  and  flung,  with  a  curse,  out  of 
the  room. 

323 


BUCKY    O'CONNOR 


Leroy  slipped  the  revolver  back  in  his  holster, 
and  quoted,  with  a  laugh : 

"To  every  coward  safety, 
And  afterward  his  evil  hour." 

"What's  that?"  demanded  Neil.  "I  ain't  no 
coward,  even  if  Jay  is.  I  don't  knuckle  under  to 
any  man.  You  got  a  right  to  ante  up  with  some 
information.  I  want  to  know  why  you  ain't  got 
them  papers  you  promised  to  bring  back  with  you." 

"And  I,  too,  sefior.  I  desire  to  know  what  it 
means,"  added  Chaves,  his  eyes  glittering. 

"That's  the  way  to  chirp,  gentlemen.  I  haven't 
got  them  because  Forbes  blundered  on  us,  and  I 
had  to  take  a  pasear  awful  sudden.  But  I  made  an 
appointment  to  meet  Collins  to-morrow/' 

"And  you  think  he'll  keep  it?"  scoffed  Neil. 

"I  know  he  will." 

"You  seem  to  know  a  heap  about  him,"  was  the 
significant  retort. 

"Take  care,  York." 

"I'm  not  Hardman,  cap.     I  say  what  I  think." 

"And  you  think?"  suggested  Leroy  gently. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think  yet.  You're  either 
a  fool  or  a  traitor.  I  ain't  quite  made  up  my  mind. 
When  I  find  out  you'll  ce'tainly  hear  from  me 
straight.-  Come  on,  boys."  And  Neil  vanished 
through  the  door. 

An  hour  later  there  came  a  knock  at  Leroy 's 
door.  Neil  answered  his  permission  to  enter,  fol- 
lowed by  the  other  trio  of  flushed  beauties.  To  the 

324 


BUCKY    O'CONNOR 


outlaw  chief  it  was  at  once  apparent  with  what 
Dutch  courage  they  had  been  fortifying  themselves 
to  some  resolve.  It  was  characteristic  of  him, 
though  he  knew  on  how  precarious  a  thread  his 
life  was  hanging,  that  disgust  at  the  foul  breaths 
with  which  they  were  polluting  the  atmosphere  was 
his  first  dominant  emotion. 

"I  wish,  Lieutenant  Chaves,  next  time  you  emi- 
grate you'd  bring  another  brand  of  poison  out  to  the 
boys.  I  can't  go  this  stuff.  Just  remember  that, 
will  you?" 

The  outlaw  chief's  hard  eye  ran  over  the  rebels 
and  read  them  like  a  primer.  They  had  come  to 
depose  him  certainly,  to  kill  him  perhaps.  Though 
this  last  he  doubted.  It  wouldn't  be  like  Neil  to 
plan  his  murder,  and  it  wouldn't  be  like  the  others 
to  give  him  warning  and  meet  him  in  the  open. 
Warily  he  stood  behind  the  table,  watching  their 
awkward  embarrassment  with  easy  assurance. 
Carefully  he  placed  face  downward  on  the  table  the 
Villon  he  had  been  reading,  but  he  did  it  without 
lifting  his  eyes  from  them. 

"You  have  business  with  me,  I  presume." 

"That's  what  we  have,"  cried  Reilly  valiantly, 
from  the  rear. 

"Then  suppose  we  come  to  it  and  get  the  room 
aired  as  soon  as  possible,"  Leroy  said  tartly. 

"You're  such  a  slap-up  dude  you'd  ought  to  be 
a  hotel  clerk,  cap.  You're  sure  wasted  out  here. 

325 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


So  we  boys  got  together  and  held  a  little  election. 
Consequence  is,  we — fact  is,  we " 

Neil  stuck,  but  Reilly  came  to  his  rescue. 

"We  elected  York  captain  of  this  outfit/' 

"To  fill  the  vacancy  created  by  my  resignation. 
Poor  York !  You're  the  sacrifice,  are  you  ?  On  the 
whole,  I  think  you  fellows  have  made  a  wise  choice. 
York's  game,  and  he  won't  squeal  on  you,  which  is 
more  than  I  could  say  of  Reilly,  or  the  play  actor, 
or  the  gentlemen  from  Chihuahua.  But  you  want 
to  watch  out  for  a  knife  in  the  dark,  York.  'Un- 
easy lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown,'  you  know." 

"We  didn't  come  here  to  listen  to  a  speech,  cap, 
but  to  notify  you  we  was  dissatisfied,  and  wouldn't 
have  you  run  the  outfit  any  longer,"  explained  Neil. 

"In  that  event,  having  heard  the  report  of  the 
committee,  if  there's  no  further  new  business,  I 
declare  this  meeting  adjourned  sine  die.  Kindly  re- 
move the  perfume  tubs,  Captain  Neil,  at  your  ear- 
liest convenience." 

The  quartette  retreated  ignominiously.  They  had 
come  prepared  to  gloat  over  Leroy's  discomfiture, 
and  he  had  mocked  them  with  that  insolent  ease  of 
his  that  set  their  teeth  in  helpless  rage. 

But  the  deposed  chief  knew  they  had  not  struck 
their  last  blow.  Throughout  the  night  he  could  hear 
the  low-voiced  murmur  of  their  plottings,  and  he 
knew  that  if  the  liquor  held  out  long  enough  there 
would  be  sudden  death  at  Hidden  Valley  before 
twenty- four  hours  were  up.  He  looked  carefully  to 

326 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


his  rifle  and  his  revolvers,  testing  several  shells  to 
make  sure  they  had  not  been  tampered  with  in  his 
absence.  After  he  had  made  all  necessary  prepara- 
tions, he  drew  the  blinds  of  his  window  and  moved 
his  easy-chair  from  its  customary  place  beside  the 
fire.  Also  he  was  careful  not  to  sit  where  any 
shadow  would  betray  his  position.  Then  back  he 
went  to  his  Villon,  a  revolver  lying  on  the  table 
within  reach. 

But  the  night  passed  without  mishap,  and  with 
morning  he  ventured  forth  to  his  meeting  with  the 
sheriff.  He  might  have  slipped  out  from  the  back 
door  of  his  cabin  and  gained  the  canon,  by  circling, 
unobserved,  up  the  draw  and  over  the  hogback,  but 
he  \vould  not  show  by  these  precautions  any  fear  of 
the  cutthroats  with  whom  he  had  to  deal.  As  was 
his  scrupulous  custom,  he  shaved  and  took  his  morn- 
ing bath  before  appearing  outdoors.  In  all  Ari- 
zona no  trimmer,  more  graceful  figure  of  jaunty 
recklessness  could  be  seen  than  this  one  stepping 
lightly  forth  to  knock  at  the  bunk-house  door  behind 
which  he  suspected  were  at  least  two  men  deter- 
mined on  his  death  by  treachery. 

Neil  came  to  the  door  in  answer  to  his  knock, 
and  within  he  could  see  the  villainous  faces  and 
bloodshot  eyes  of  two  of  the  others  peering  at  him. 

"Good  mo'ning,  Captain  Neil.  I'm  on  my  way 
to  keep  that  appointment  I  mentioned  last  night. 
I'd  ce'tainly  be  glad  to  have  you  go  along.  Noth- 

327 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


ing  like  being  on  the  spot  to  prevent  double-cross- 
ing." 

"I'm  with  you  in  the  fling  of  a  cow's  tail.  Come 
on,  boys/' 

"I  think  not.    You  and  I  will  go  alone." 

"Just  as  you  say.  Reilly,  I  guess  you  better  sad- 
dle Two-step  and  the  Lazy  B  roan." 

"I  ain't  saddling  ponies  for  Mr.  Leroy,"  returned 
Reilly,  with  thick  defiance. 

Neil  was  across  the  room  in  two  strides.  "When 
I  tell  you  to  do  a  thing,  jump!  Get  a  move  on  you, 
and  saddle  those  broncs." 

"I  don't  know  as " 

"Vamos!" 

Reilly  sullenly  slouched  out. 

"I  see  you  make  them  jump,"  commented  the 
former  captain  audibly,  seating  himself  comfortably 
on  a  rock.  "It's  the  only  way  you'll  get  along  with 
them.  See  that  they  come  to  time  or  pump  lead  into 
them.  You'll  find  there's  no  middle  way." 

Neil  and  Leroy  had  hardly  passed  beyond  the 
rock-slide  before  the  others,  suspicion  awake  in  their 
sodden  brains,  dodged  after  them  on  foot.  For 
•three  miles  they  followed  the  broncos  as  the  latter 
picked  their  way  up  the  steep  trail  that  led  to  the 
Dalriada  Mine. 

"If  Mr.  Collins  is  here,  he's  lying  almighty  low," 
exclaimed  Neil,  as  he  swung  from  his  pony  at  the 
foot  of  the  bluff  from  the  brow  of  which  the  gray 

328 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


dump  of  the  mine  straggled  down  like  a  Titan's 
beard. 

"Right  you  are,  Mr.  Neil." 

York  whirled,  revolver  in  hand,  but  the  man  who 
had  risen  from  behind  the  big  boulder  beside  the 
trail  was  resting  both  hands  on  the  rock  before  him. 

"You're  alone,  are  you?"  demanded  York. 

"I  am." 

Neil's  revolver  slid  back  into  its  holster.  "Morn- 
in',  Val.  What's  new  down  at  Tucson?"  he  said 
amiably. 

"I  understood  I  was  to  meet  you  alone,  Mr.  Le- 
roy,"  said  the  sheriff  quickly,  his  blue-gray  eyes  on 
the  former  chief. 

"That  was  the  agreement,  Mr.  Collins,  but  it 
seems  the  boys  are  on  the  anxious  seat  about  these 
little  socials  of  ours.  They've  embraced  the  notion 
that  I'm  selling  them.  I  hated  to  have  them 
harassed  with  doubts,  so  I  invited  the  new  major- 
domo  of  the  ranch  to  come  with  me.  Of  cou'se,  if 
you  object " 

"I  don't  object  in  the  least,  but  I  want  him  to 
understand  the  agreement.  I've  got  a  posse  waiting 
at  Eldorado  Springs,  and  as  soon  as  I  get  back  there 
we  take  the  trail  after  you.  Bucky  O'Connor  is 
at  the  head  of  the  posse." 

York  grinned.  "We'll  be  in  Sonora  then,  Val. 
Think  I'm  going  to  wait  and  let  you  shoot  off  my 
other  fingers?" 

Collins   fished  from  his  vest  pocket  the  papers 

329 


DUCKY   O'CONNOR 


he  had  taken  from  Scotty's  hat  and  from  Webster. 
"I  think  I'll  be  jogging-  along  back  to  the  springs. 
I  reckon  these  are  what  you  want." 

Leroy  took  them  from  him  and  handed  them  to 
Neil.  "Don't  let  us  detain  you  any  longer,  Mr.  Col- 
lins. I  know  you're  awful  busy  these  days." 

The  sheriff  nodded  a  good  day,  cut  down  the  hill 
on  the  slant,  and  disappeared  in  a  mesquit  thicket, 
from  the  other  side  of  which  he  presently  emerged 
astride  a  bay  horse. 

The  two  outlaws  retraced  their  way  to  the  foot 
of  the  hill  and  remounted  their  broncos. 

"I  want  to  say,  cap,  that  I'm  eating  humble-pie 
in  big  chunks  right  this  minute,"  said  Neil  shame- 
facedly, scratching  his  curly  poll  and  looking  apolo- 
getically at  his  former  chief.  "I  might  'a'  knowed 
you  was  straight  as  a  string,  all  I've  seen  of  you 
these  last  two  years.  If  those  coyotes  say  another 
word,  cap " 

An  exploding  echo  seemed  to  shake  the  moun- 
tain, and  then  another.  Leroy  swayed  in  the  sad- 
dle, clutching  at  his  side.  He  pitched  forward,  his 
arms  round  the  horse's  neck,  and  slid  slowly  to  the 
ground. 

Neil  was  off  his  horse  in  an  instant,  kneeling  be- 
side him.  He  lifted  him  in  his  arms  and  carried 
him  behind  a  great  outcropping  boulder. 

"It's  that  hound  Collins,"  he  muttered,  as  he 
propped  the  wounded  man's  head  on  his  arm.  "By 
God,  I  didn't  think  it  of  Val." 

330 


HE  PITCHED  FORWARD,  HIS  ARM  AROUND  THE  HORSE'S  NECK. 


Page  330. 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


Leroy  opened  his  eyes  and  smiled  faintly.  "Guess 
again,  York." 

"You  don't  mean " 

He  nodded.  "Right  this  time — Hardman  and 
Chaves  and  Reilly.  They  shot  to  get  us  both.  With 
us  out  of  the  way  they  could  divide  the  treasure 
between  them." 

Neil  choked.  "You  ain't  bad  hurt,  old  man.  Say 
you  ain't  bad  hurt,  Phil." 

"More  than  I  can  carry,  York;  shot  through  and 
through.  I've  been  doubtful  of  Reilly  for  a  long 
time." 

"By  the  Lord,  if  I  don't  get  the  rattlesnake  for 
this!"  swore  Neil  between  his  teeth.  "Ain't  there 
nothin'  I  can  do  for  you,  old  pardner?" 

In  sharp  succession  four  shots  rang  out.  Neil 
grasped  his  rifle,  leaning  forward  and  crouching  for 
cover.  He  turned  a  puzzled  face  toward  Leroy.  "I 
don't  savvy.  They  ain't  shooting  at  us." 

"The  sheriff,"  explained  Leroy.  "They  forgot 
him,  and  he  doubled  back  on  them." 

"I'll  bet  Val  got  one  of  them,"  cried  Neil,  his 
face  lighting. 

"He's  got  one — or  he's  quit  living.  That's  a  sure 
thing.  Why  don't  you  circle  up  on  them  from  be- 
hind, York?" 

"I  hate  to  leave  you,  cap — and  you  so  bad. 
Can't  I  do  a  thing  for  you?" 

Leroy  smiled  faintly.  "Not  a  thing.  I'll  be  right 
here  when  you  get  back,  York." 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


The  curly-headed  young  puncher  took  Leroy's 
hand  in  his,  gulping  down  a  boyish  sob.  "I  ain't 
been  square  with  you,  cap.  I  reckon  after  this — 
when  you  git  well — I'll  not  be  such  a  coyote  any 


more." 


The  dying  man's  eyes  were  lit  with  a  beautiful 
tenderness.  "There's  one  thing  you  can  do  for  me, 
York.  .  .  .  I'm  out  of  the  game,  but  I  want  you 
to  make  a  new  start.  ...  I  got  you  into  this 
life,  boy.  Quit  it,  and  live  straight.  There's  noth- 
ing to  it,  York." 

The  cowboy-bandit  choked.  "Don't  you  \vorry 
about  me,  cap.  I'm  all  right.  I'd  just  as  lief  quit 
this  deviltry,  anyhow." 

"I  want  you  to  promise,  boy."  A  whimsical, 
half-cynical  smile  touched  Leroy's  eyes.  "You  see, 
after  living  like  a  devil  for  thirty  years,  I  want  to 
die  like  a  Christian.  Now,  go,  York." 

After  Neil  had  left  him,  Leroy's  eyes  closed. 
Faintly  he  heard  two  more  shots  echoing  down  the 
valley,  but  the  meaning  of  them  was  already  lost 
to  his  wandering  mind. 

Neil  dodged  rapidly  round  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tain with  intent  to  cut  off  the  bandits  as  they  re- 
treated. He  found  the  sheriff  crouching  behind  a 
rock  scarce  two  hundred  yards  from  the  scene  of 
the  murder.  At  the  same  moment  another  shot 
echoed  from  well  over  to  the  left. 

"Who  can  that  be?"  Neil  asked,  very  much  puz- 
zled. 

332 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"That's  what's  worrying  me,  York,"  the  sheriff 
returned. 

Together  they  zigzagged  up  the  side  of  the 
mountain.  Twice  from  above  there  came  sounds 
of  rifle  shots.  Neil  was  the  first  to  strike  the  trail 
to  the  mine.  None  too  soon,  for  as  he  stepped 
upon  it,  breathing  heavily  from  his  climb,  Reilly 
swung  round  a  curve  and  whipped  his  weapon  to 
his  shoulder.  The  man  fired  before  York  could 
interfere  and  stood  watching  tensely  the  result  of 
his  shot.  He  was  silhouetted  against  the  skyline,  a 
beautiful  mark,  but  Neil  did  not  cover  him.  In- 
stead, he  spoke  quietly  to  the  other. 

"Was  it  you  that  killed  Phil,  Reilly?" 

The  man  whirled  and  saw  Neil  for  the  first  time. 
His  answer  was  instant.  Flinging  up  his  rifle,  he 
pumped  a  shot  at  York. 

Neil's  retort  came  in  a  flash.  Reilly  clutched  at 
his  heart  and  toppled  backward  from  the  precipice 
upon  which  he  stood.  Collins  joined  the  cow- 
puncher  and  together  they  stepped  forward  to  the 
point  from  which  Reilly  had  plunged  down  two 
hundred  feet  to  the  jagged  rocks  below. 

At  the  curve  they  came  face  to  face  with  Bucky 
O'Connor.  Three  weapons  went  up  quicker  than 
the  beating  of  an  eyelash.  More  slowly  each  went 
down  again. 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  Bucky?"  the  sheriff 
asked. 

"Just  pirootin'  around,  Val.     It  occurred  to  me 

333 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


Leroy  might  not  mean  to  play  fair  with  you,  so  I 
kinder  invited  myse'f  to  the  party.  When  I  heard 
shooting  I  thought  it  was  you  they  had  bush- 
whacked, so  I  sat  in  to  the  game." 

"You  guessed  wrong,  Bucky.  Reilly  and  the 
others  rounded  on  Leroy.  While  they  were  at  it 
they  figured  to  make  a  clean  job  and  bump  off 
York,  too.  From  what  York  says  Leroy  has  got 
his." 

The  ranger  turned  a  jade  eye  on  the  outlaw. 
"Has  Mr.  Neil  turned  honest  man,  Val?  Taken 
him  into  your  posse,  have  you?"  he  asked,  with  an 
edge  of  irony  in  his  voice. 

The  sheriff  laid  a  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the 
man  who  had  been  his  friend  before  he  turned 
miscreant. 

"Don't  you  worry  about  Neil,  Bucky,"  he  ad- 
vised gently.  "It  was  York  shot  Reilly,  after  Cork 
had  cut  loose  at  him,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  that 
didn't  save  your  life.  Neil  has  got  to  stand  the 
gaff  for  what  he's  done,  but  I'll  pull  wires  to  get 
his  punishment  made  light." 

"Killed  Reilly,  did  he?"  repeated  O'Connor.  "I 
got  Anderson  back  there." 

"That  makes  only  one  left  to  account  for.  I 
wonder  who  he  is?" 

Collins  turned  absent-mindedly  to  Neil.  The  lat- 
ter looked  at  him  out  of  an  expressionless  face. 
Even  though  his  confederate  had  proved  traitor  he 
would  not  betray  him. 

334 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


"I  wonder/'  he  said. 

Bucky  laughed.  "Made  a  mistake  that  time, 
Val." 

"I  plumb  forgot  the  situation  for  a  moment/'  the 
sheriff  grinned.  "Anyhow,  we  better  be  hittin'  his 
trail." 

"How  about  Phil?"  Neil  suggested. 

"That's  right  One  of  us  has  ce'tainly  got  to  go 
back  and  attend  to  him." 

"You  and  Neil  go  back.  I'll  follow  up  this  gen- 
tleman who  is  escaping,"  the  ranger  said. 

And  so  it  was  arranged.  The  two  men  returned 
from  their  grim  work  of  justice  to  the  place  where 
the  outlaw  chief  had  been  left.  His  eyes  lit  feebly 
at  sight  of  them. 

"What  news,  York?"  he  asked. 

"Reilly  and  Hardman  are  killed.  How  are  you 
feelin',  cap?"  The  cow-puncher  knelt  beside  the 
dying  outlaw  and  put  an  arm  under  his  head. 

"Shot  all  to  pieces,  boy.  No,  I  got  no  time  to 
have  you  play  doctor  with  me."  He  turned  to  Col- 
lins with  a  gleam  of  his  unconquerable  spirit. 
"You  came  pretty  near  making  a  clean  round-up, 
sheriff.  I'm  the  fourth  to  be  put  out  of  business. 
You'd  ought  to  be  content  with  that.  Let  York 
here  go." 

"I  can't  do  that,  but  I'll  do  my  best  to  see  he 
gets  off  light." 

"I  got  him  into  this,  sheriff.    He  was  all  right  be- 

335 


BUCKY    O'CONNOR 


fore  he  knew  me.  I  want  him  to  get  a  chance 
now." 

"I  wish  I  could  give  him  a  pardon,  but  I  can't 
do  it.  I'll  see  the  governor  for  him  though." 

The  wounded  man  spoke  to  Collins  alone  for  a 
few  minutes,  then  began  to  wander  in  his  mind. 
He  babbled  feebly  of  childhood  days  back  in  his 
Kentucky  home.  The  word  most  often  on  his  lips 
was  "Mother."  So,  with  his  head  resting  on  Neil's 
arm  and  his  hand  in  that  of  his  friend,  he  slipped 
away  to  the  Great  Beyond. 


336 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

FOR   A   GOOD   REASON. 

The  young  ladies,  following  the  custom  of  Ari- 
zona in  summer,  were  riding  by  the  light  of  the 
stars  to  avoid  the  heat  of  the  day.  They  rode  lei- 
surely, chatting  as  their  ponies  paced  side  by  side. 
For  though  they  were  cousins  they  were  getting 
acquainted  with  each  other  for  the  first  time.  Both 
of  them  found  this  a  delightful  process,  not  the 
less  so  because  they  were  temperamentally  very  dif- 
ferent. Each  of  them  knew  already  that  they  were 
going  to  be  great  friends.  They  had  exchanged 
the  histories  of  their  lives,  lying  awake  girl  fashion 
to  talk  into  the  small  hours,  each  omitting  certain 
passages,  however,  that  had  to  do  with  two  men 
who  were  at  that  moment  approaching  nearer  every 
minute  to  them. 

Bucky  O'Connor  and  Sheriff  Collins  were  re- 
turning to  the  Rocking  Chair  Ranch  from  Epitaph, 
where  they  had  just  been  to  deposit  twenty-seven 
thousand  dollars  and  a  prisoner  by  the  name  of 
Chaves.  Just  at  the  point  where  the  road  climbed 
from  the  plains  and  reached  the  summit  of  the  first 
stiff  hill  the  two  parties  met  and  passed.  The 
ranger  and  the  sheriff  reined  in  simultaneously. 
Yet  a  moment  and  all  four  of  them  were  talking 
at  once. 

337 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


They  turned  toward  the  ranch,  Bucky  and  Fran- 
ces leading  the  way.  Alice,  riding  beside  her 
lover  in  the  darkness,  found  the  defences  upon 
which  she  had  relied  begin  to  fail  her.  Neverthe- 
less, she  summoned  them  to  her  support  and  met 
him  full  armed  with  the  evasions  and  complexities 
of  her  sex. 

"This  is  a  surprise,  Mr.  Collins,"  he  was  in- 
formed in  her  best  society  voice. 

"And  a  pleasure?" 

"Of  course.  But  I'm  sorry  that  father  has  been 
called  to  Phoenix.  I  suppose  you  came  to  tell  him 
about  your  success." 

"To  brag  about  it,"  he  corrected.  "But  not  to 
your  father — to  his  daughter." 

"That's  very  thoughtful  of  you.  Will  you  be- 
gin now?" 

"Not  yet.  There  is  something  I  have  to  tell  you. 
Miss  Mackenzie." 

At  the  gravity  in  his  voice  the  lightness  slipped 
from  her  like  a  cloak. 

"Yes.  Tell  me  your  news.  Over  the  telephone 
all  sorts  of  rumors  have  come  to  us.  But  even 
these  were  hearsay." 

"I  thought  of  telephoning  you  the  facts.  Then 
I  decided  to  ride  out  and  tell  you  at  once.  I  knew 
you  would  want  to  hear  the  story  at  first  hand." 

Her  patrician  manner  was  gone.  Her  eyes 
looked  their  thanks  at  him.  "That  was  good  of 
you.  I  have  been  very  anxious  to  get  the  facts. 

338 


BUCKY    O'CONNOR 


One  rumor  was  that  you  have  captured  Mr.  Leroy. 
Is  it  true?" 

It  seemed  to  her  that  his  look  was  one  of  grave 
tenderness.  "No,  that  is  not  true.  You  remember 
what  we  said  of  him — of  how  he  might  die?" 

"He  is  dead — you  killed  him,"  she  cried,  all  the 
color  washed  from  her  face. 

"He  is  dead,  but  I  did  not  kill  him." 

"Tell  me,"  she  commanded. 

He  told  her,  beginning  at  the  moment  of  his 
meeting  with  the  outlaws  at  the  Dalriada  dump  and 
continuing  to  the  last  scene  of  the  tragedy.  It 
touched  her  so  nearly  that  she  could  not  hear  him 
through  dry-eyed. 

"And  he  spoke  of  me?"  She  said  it  in  a  low 
voice,  to  herself  rather  than  to  him. 

"It  was  just  before  his  mind  began  to  wander — 
almost  his  last  conscious  thought.  He  said  that 
when  you  heard  the  news  you  would  remember. 
What  you  were  to  remember  he  didn't  say.  I  took 
it  you  would  know." 

"Yes.  I  was  to  remember  that  he  was  not  all 
wolf  to  me."  She  told  it  with  a  little  break  of 
tears  in  her  voice. 

"Then  he  told  me  to  tell  you  that  it  was  the  best 
way  out  for  him.  He  had  come  to  the  end  of  the 
road,  and  it  would  not  have  been  possible  for  him 
to  go  back."  Presently  Collins  added  gently:  "If 
you  don't  mind  my  saying  so,  I  think  he  was  right. 
He  was  content  to  go,  quite  game  and  steady  in  his 

339 


BUCKY    O'CONNOR 


easy  way.  If  he  had  lived,  there  could  have  been 
no  going  back  for  him.  It  was  his  nature  to  go 
the  limit.  The  tragedy  is  in  his  life,  not  in  his 
death." 

"Yes,  I  know  that,  but  it  hurts  one  to  think  it 
had  to  be — that  all  his  splendid  gifts  and  capabili- 
ties should  end  like  this,  and  that  we  are  forced  to 
see  it  is  best.  He  might  have  done  so  much." 

"And  instead  he  became  a  miscreant.  I  reckon 
there  was  a  lack  in  him  somewhere." 

"Yes,  there  was  a  great  lack  in  him  somewhere." 

They  were  silent  for  a  time.  She  broke  it  to 
ask  about  York  Neil. 

"You  wouldn't  send  him  to  prison  after  doing 
what  he  did,  would  you?" 

"Meaning  what?" 

"You  say  yourself  he  helped  you  against  the 
other  outlaws.  Then  he  showed  you  where  to  start 
in  finding  the  buried  money.  He  isn't  a  bad  man. 
You  know  how  he  stood  by  me  when  I  was  a 
prisoner,"  she  pleaded. 

He  nodded.  "That  goes  a  long  way  with  me, 
Miss  Mackenzie.  The  governor  is  a  right  good 
friend  of  mine.  I  meant  to  ask  him  for  a  pardon. 
I  reckon  Neil  means  to  live  straight  from  now  on. 
He  promised  Leroy  he  would.  He's  only  a  wild 
cow-puncher  gone  wrong,  and  now  he's  haided 
right  he'll  pull  up  and  walk  the  narrow  trail." 

"But  can  you  save  him  from  the  penitentiary?" 

Collins  smiled.    "He  saved  me  the  trouble.    Com- 

340 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


ing  through  the  Canon  Del  Oro  in  the  night,  he 
ducked.     I  reckon  he's  in  Mexico  now." 

"I'm  glad." 

"Well,    I   ain't   sorry   myse'f,    though    I   helped 
Bucky  hunt  real  thorough  for  him." 
•      "Father  will  be  pleased  to  know  you  got  the 
treasure  back,"  Alice  said  presently,  after  they  had 
ridden  a  bit  in  silence. 

"And  your  father's  daughter,  Miss  Alice — is  she 
pleased?" 

"What  pleases  father  pleases  me."  Her  voice, 
cool  as  the  plash  of  ice  water,  might  have  daunted 
a  less  resolute  man.  But  this  one  had  long  since 
determined  the  manner  of  his  wooing  and  was  not 
to  be  driven  from  it. 

"I'm  glad  of  that.  Your  father's  right  friendly 
to  me,"  he  announced,  with  composure. 

"Indeed!" 

"Sho!  I  ain't  going  to  run  away  and  hide  be- 
cause you  look  like  you  don't  know  I'm  in  Ari- 
zona. What  kind  of  a  lover  would  I  be  if  I  broke 
for  cover  every  time  you  flashed  those  dark  eyes 
at  me?" 

"Mr.  Collins!" 

"My  friends  call  me  Val,"  he  suggested,  smiling. 

"I  was  going  to  ask,  Mr.  Collins,  if  you  think 
you  can  bully  me." 

"It  might  be  a  first  rate  thing  for  you  if  I  did, 
Miss  Mackenzie.  All  your  life  you  haven't  done 
anything  but  trample  on  sissy  boys.  Now,  I  ex- 

341 


BUCKY    O'CONNOR 


pect  I'm  not  a  sissy  boy,  but  a  fair  imitation  of  a 
man,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  but  you'd  find  me 
some  too  restless  for  a  door-mat."  His  maimed 
hand  happened  to  be  resting  on  the  saddle  horn  as 
he  spoke,  and  the  story  of  the  maiming  emphasized 
potently  the  truth  of  his  claim.  . 

"Don't  you  assume  a  good  deal,  Mr.  Collins, 
when  you  imply  that  I  have  any  desire  to  master 
you?" 

"Not  a  bit,"  he  assured  her  cheerfully.  "Every 
woman  wants  to  boss  the  man  she's  going  to  marry, 
but  if  she  finds  she  can't  she's  glad  of  it,  because 
then  she  knows  she's  got  a  man." 

"You  are  quite  sure  I  am  going  to  marry  you?" 
she  asked  gently — too  gently,  he  thought. 

"I'm  only  reasonably  sure/'  he  informed  her. 
"You  see,  I  can't  tell  for  certain  whether  your 
pride  or  your  good  sense  is  the  stronger." 

She  caught  a  detached  glimpse  of  the  situation, 
and  it  made  for  laughter. 

"That's  right,  I  want  you  should  enjoy  it,"  he 
said  placidly. 

"I  do.  It's  the  most  absurd  proposal — I  sup- 
pose you  call  it  a  proposal — that  ever  I  heard." 

"I  expect  you've  heard  a  good  many  in  your 
time." 

"We'll  not  discuss  that,  if  you  please." 

"I  am  more  interested  in  this  one,"  he  agreed. 

"Isn't  it  about  time  to  begin  on  Tucson?" 

"Not  to-day,  ma'am.     There  are  going  to  be  a 

342 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


lot  of  to-morrows  for  you  and  me,  and  Tucson 
will  have  to  wait  till  then." 

"Didn't  I  give  you  an  answer  last  week?" 

"You  did,  but  I  didn't  take  it.  Now  I'm  ready 
for  your  sure-enough  answer." 

She  flashed  a  look  at  him  that  mocked  his  con- 
fidence. "I've  heard  about  the  vanity  of  girls,  but 
never  in  my  experience  have  I  met  any  so  colossal 
as  this  masculine  vanity  now  on  exhibit.  Do  you 
really  think,  Mr.  Collins,  that  all  you  have  to  do 
to  win  a  woman  is  to  look  impressive  and  tell  her 
that  you  have  decided  to  marry  her?" 

"Do  I  look  as  if  I  thought  that?"  he  asked  her. 

"It  is  perfectly  ridiculous — your  absurd  attitude 
of  taking  everything  for  granted.  Well,  it  may 
be  the  Tucson  custom,  but  where  I  come  from  it  is 
not  in  vogue." 

"No,  I  reckon  not.  Back  there  a  boy  persuades  a 
girl  he  loves  her  by  ruining  her  digestion  with 
candy  and  all  sorts  of  ice  arrangements  from  a 
soda-fountain.  But  I'm  uncivilized  enough  to  as- 
sume you're  a  woman  of  sense  and  not  a  spoiled 
schoolgirl." 

The  velvet  night  was  attuned  to  the  rhythm  of 
her  love.  She  felt  herself,  in  this  sea  of  moonlit 
romance,  being  swept  from  her  moorings.  Star- 
eyed,  she  gazed  at  him  while  she  still  fought  against 
his  dominance. 

"You  are  uncivilized.  Would  you  beat  me  when 
I  didn't  obey?"  she  asked  tremulously. 

343 


BUCKY   O'CONNOR 


He  laughed  in  slow  contentment.  "Perhaps ;  but 
I'd  love  you  while  I  did  it." 

"Oh,  you  would  love  me.'*  She  looked  across 
under  her  long  lashes,  not  as  boldly  as  she  would 
have  liked,  and  her  gaze  fell  before  his.  "I  haven't 
heard  before  that  that  was  in  the  compact  you 
proposed.  I  don't  think  you  have  remembered  to 
mention  it." 

He  swung  from  the  saddle  and  put  a  hand  to  her 
bridle  rein. 

"Get  down,"  he  ordered. 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  say  so.     Get  down." 

She  looked  down  at  him,  a  man  out  of  a  thou- 
sand and  for  her  one  out  of  a  hundred  million. 
Before  she  was  conscious  of  willing  it  she  stood 
beside  him.  He  trailed  the  reins  of  the  ponies,  and 
in  two  strides  came  back  to  her. 

"What — do  you— want?" 

"I  want  you,  girl."  His  arm  swept  round  her, 
and  he  held  her  while  he  looked  down  into  her  shin- 
ing eyes.  "So  I  haven't  told  you  that  I  love  you. 
Did  you  need  to  be  told?" 

"We  must  go  on,"  she  murmured  weakly. 
"Frances  and  Lieutenant  O'Connor " 

" Have  their  own  love-affairs  to  attend  to. 

We'll  manage  ours  and  not  intrude." 

"They  might  think " 

He  laughed  in  deep  delight.  " that  we  love 

each  other.  They're  welcome  to  the  thought.  I 

344 


BUCKY  O'CONNOR 


haven't  told  you  that  I  love  you,  eh?  I  tell  you 
now.  It's  my  last  trump,  and  right  here  I  table 
it.  I'm  no  desert  poet,  but  I  love  you  from  that 
dark  crown  of  yours  to  those  little  feet  that  tap 
the  floor  so  impatient  sometimes.  I  love  you  all 
the  time,  no  matter  what  mood  you're  in — when 
you  flash  dark  angry  eyes  at  me  and  when  you 
laugh  in  that  slow,  understanding  way  nobody  else 
in  God's  world  has  the  trick  of.  Makes  no  dif- 
ference to  me  whether  you're  glad  or  mad,  I  want 
you  just  the  same.  That's  the  reason  why  I'm 
going  to  make  you  love  me." 

"You  can't  do  it."  Her  voice  was  very  low  and 
not  quite  steady. 

"Why  not — I'll  show  you." 

"But  you  can't — for  a  good  reason." 

"Put  a  name  to  it." 

"Because.  Oh,  you  big  blind  man — because  I 
love  you  already."  She  burlesqued  his  drawl  with 
a  little  joyous  laugh :  "I  reckon  if  you're  right  set 
on  it  I'll  have  to  marry  you,  Val  Collins." 

His  arm  tightened  about  her  as  if  he  would  hold 
her  against  the  whole  world.  His  ardent  eyes  pos- 
sessed hers.  She  felt  herself  grow  faint  with  a 
poignant  delight.  Her  lips  met  his  slowly  in  their 
first  kiss. 

THE   END. 


345 


JOHN  FOX,  JR'S. 

STORIES   OF  THE   KENTUCKY  MOUNTAINS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.      Ask  for  Cresset  and  Donlap's  list 

THE  TRAIL   OF  THE    LONESOME  PINE. 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

The  "lonesome  pine"  from  which  the 
story  takes  its  name  was  a  tall  tree  that 
stood  in  solitary  splendor  on  a  mountain 
top.^  The  fame  of  the  pine  lured  a  young 
engineer  through  Kentucky  to  catch  the 
trail,  and  when  he  finally  climbed  to  its 
shelter  he  found  not  only  the  pine  but  the 


young 

engineer  a  madder  chase  than  "the"  trail 
of  the  lonesome  pine." 

THE  LITTLE  SHEPHERD  OF  KINGDOM  COME 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

This  is  a  story  of  Kentucky,  in  a  settlement  known  as  "King- 
dom Come."  It  is  a  life  rude,  semi-barbarous;  but  natural 
and  honest,  from  which  often  springs  the  flower  of  civilization. 

"  Chad."  the  "little  shepherd"  did  not  know  who  he  was  nor 
whence  he  came — he  had  just  wandered  from  door  to  door  since 
early  childhood,  seeking  shelter  with  kindly  mountaineers  who 
gladly  fathered  and  mothered  this  waif  about  whom  there  was 
such  a  mystery — a  charming  waif,  by  the  way,  who  could  play 
the  banjo  better  that  anyone  else  in  the  mountains. 

A  KNIGHT  OF  THE    CUMBERLAND. 
Illustrated   by  F.  C.  Yohn, 

The  scenes  are  laid  along  the  waters  of  the  Cumberland* 
the  lair  of  moonshiner  and  f  eudsman.  The  knight  is  a  moon- 
shiner's son,  and  the  heroine  a  beautiful  girl  perversely  chris- 
tened "The  Blight."  Two  impetuous  young  Southerners'  fall  \ 
under  the  spell  of  "The  Blight's  "  charms  and  she  learns  what 
a  large  part  jealousy  and  pistols  have  in  the  love  making  of  the 
mountaineers. 

Included  in  this  volume  is  "  Hell  fer-Sartain"  and  other 
stories,  some  of  Mr.  Fox's  most  entertaining  Cumberland  valley 
narratives. 

Ask  for  compete  fret  Hat  of  G.  &  D.  Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 


GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


ZANE  GREY'S  NOVELS 

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THE  LIGHT  OF  WESTERN  STARS 

A  New  York  society  girl  buys  a  ranch  which  becomes  the  center  of  frontier  war- 
fare. Her  loyal  superintendent  rescues  her  when  she  is  captured  by  bandits.  A 
surprising:  climax  brings  the  story  to  a  delightful  close. 

THE  RAINBOW  TRAIL 

The  story  of  a  young  clergyman  who  becomes  a  wanderer  in  the  treat  western 
uplands— until  at  last  love  and  faith  awake. 

DESERT  GOLD 

The  itory  describes  the  recent  uprising  alone  the  border,  and  ends  with  the  finding 
of  the  gold  which  two  prospectors  had  willed  to  the  girl  who  is  the  story's  heroine. 

RIDERS  OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE 

A  picturesque  romance  of  Utah  of  some  forty  years  ago  when  Mormon  authority 
ruled.  The  prosecution  of  Jane  Withersteen  is  the  theme.of  the  story. 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  PLAINSMEN 

This  is  the  record  of  a  trip  which  the  author  took  with  Buffalo  Jones,  known  as  the 
preserver  of  the  American  bison,  across  the  Arizona  desert  and  of  a  hunt  in  "that 
wonderful  country  of  deep  canons  and  giant  pines." 

THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  DESERT 

A  lovely  girl,  who  has  been  reared  among:  Mormons,  learns  to  love  a  young-  New 
Englander.  The  Mormon  religion,  however,  demands  that  the  girl  shall  become 
the  second  wife  of  one  of  the  Mormons— Well,  that's  the  problem  of  this  great  story. 

THE  SHORT  STOP 

The  young  hero,  tiring  of  his  factory  grind,  starts  out  to  win  fame  and  fortune  as 
a  professional  ball  player.  His  hard  knocks  at  the  start  are  followed  by  Such  success 
as  clean  sportsmanship,  courage  and  honesty  ought  to  win. 

BETTY  ZANE 

This  story  tells  of  the  bravery  and  heroism  of  Betty,  the  beautiful  young  sister  of 
eld  Colonel  Zaae,  one  of  the  bravest  pioneers. 

THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

After  killing'  a  man  in  self  defense,  Buck  Duane  becomes  an  outlaw  along  the 
Texas  border.  la  a  camp  on  the  Mexican  side  of  the  river,  he  finds  a  young  girlheld 
prisoner,  and  in  attempting  to  rescue  her,  brings  down  upon  himself  the  wrath  of  her 
captors  and  henceforth  is  hunted  on  one  side  by  honest  men,  on  the  other  by  outlaws. 

THE  BORDER  LEGION 

Joan  Randle,  in  a  spirit  of  anger,  sent  Jim  Cleve  out  to  a  lawless  Western  mining 
camp,  to  prove  his  mettle.  Then  realizing  that  she  loved  him— she,  followed  him  out. 


strike,  a  thrilling  robbery— gambling  and  gun  play  carry  you  along  breathlessly. 

THE   LAST  OF  THE  GREAT  SCOUTS, 

By  Helen  Cody  Wetmore  and  Zane  Grey 


the  Scouts,  and  later  engaged  in  the  most  dangerous  Indian  campaigns.    There  is 
also  a  very  interesting:  account  of  the  travels  of  "The  Wild  West"  Show.    No  char- 
acter In  public  life  makes  a  stronger  appeal  to  the  imagination  of  America  than 
Buffalo  Bill."  whose  daring:  and  bravery  made  him  famous. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


THE  NOVELS  OF 

WINSTON  CHURCHILL 

THE  INSIDE  OF  THE  CUP.    Illustrated  by  Howard  Giles. 

The  Reverend  John  Hodder  is  called  to  a  fashionable  church  in 
a  middle-  western  city.  He  knows  little  of  modern  problems  and  in 
his  theology  is  as  orthodox  as  the  rich  men  who  control  his  church 
could  desire.  But  the  facts  of  modern  life  are  thrust  upon  him;  an 
awakening  follows  and  in  the  end  he  works  out  a  solution. 
A  FAR  COUNTRY.  Illustrated  by  Herman  Pfeifer. 

This  novel  is  concerned  with  big  problems  of  the  day.    As  Tfu. 
Inside  of  the  Cup  gets  down  to  the  essentials  in  its  discussion  of  re- 
ligion, so  A  Far  Country  deals  in  a  story  that  is  intense  and  dra- 
matic, with  other  vital  issues  confronting  the  twentieth  century. 
A  MODERN  CHRONICLE.    Illustrated  by  J.  H.  Gardner  Soper. 

This,  Mr.  Churchill's  first  great  presentation  of  the  Eternal 
Feminine,  is  throughout  a  profound  study  of  a  fascinating  young 
American  woman.    It  is  frankly  a  modern  love  story. 
MR.  CREWE'S  CAREER.     Illus.  by  A.  I.  Keller  and  Kinneys. 

A  new  England  state  is  under  the  political  domination  of  a  rail- 
way and  Mr.  Crewe,  a  millionaire,  seizes  a  moment  when  the  cause 
of  the  people  is  being  espoused  by  an  ardent  young  attorney,  to  fur- 
ther his  own  interest  in  a  political  way.  The  daughter  of  the  rail- 
way president  plays  no  small  part  in  the  situation. 
THE  CROSSING.  Illustrated  by  S.  Adamson  and  L. 


Describing  the  battle  of  Fort  Moultrie,  the  blazing  of  the  Ken- 
tucky wilderness,  the  expedition  of  Clark  and  his  handful  of  follow- 
ers in  Illinois,  the  beginning  of   civilization  along  the  Ohio  and 
Mississippi,  and  the  treasonable  schemes  against  Washington. 
CONISTON.    Illustrated  by  Florence  Scovel  Shinn. 

A  deft  blending  of  love  and  politics.    A  New  Englander  is  th« 
hero,  a  crude  man  who  rose  to  political  prominence  by  his  own  pow. 
ers,  and  then  surrendered  all  for  the  love  of  a  woman. 
THE  CELEBRITY.    An  episode. 

An  inimitable  bit  of  comedy  describing  an  interchange  of  per- 
sonalities  between  a  celebrated  author  and  &  bicycle  salesman.    It 
is  the  purest,  keenest  fun  —  and  is  American  tcf  the  core. 
THE  CRISIS.     Illustrated  with  scenes  from  Vhe  Photo-Play. 

A  book  that  presents  the  great  crisis  in  our  national  life  witl 
splendid  power  and  with  a  sympathy,  a  sincerity,  and  a  patriotism 
that  are  inspiring. 
RICHARD  CARVEL.    Illustrated  by  Malcolm  Frazer. 

An  historical  novel  which  gives  a  real  and  vivid  picture  of  Co- 
lonial times,  and  is  good,  clean,  spirited  reading  in  all  its  phases  and 
interesting  throughout. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,      PUBLISHERS,     NEW  YORK 


STORIES  OF  RARE  CHARM  BY 

GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

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LADDIE. 

Illustrated  by  Herman  Pfeifef . 

This  is  a  bright,  cheery  tale  with  tbi 
scenes  laid  in  Indiana.  The  story  is  told 
by  Little  Sister,  the  youngest  member  or 
a  large  family,  but  it  is  concerned  noj  s», 
much  with  childish  doings  as  with  the  love 
affairs  of  older  members  of  the  family. 
Chief  among  them  is  that  of  Laddie,  the 
older  brother  whom  Little  Sister  adores 
and  the  Princess,  an  English  girl  who  has 
come  to  live  in  the  neighborhood  and  about 
whose  family  there  hangs  a  mystery 
There  is  a  wedding  midway  in  the  book 
and  a  double  wedding  at  the  clcwe. 
fHE  HARVESTER.  Illustrated  by  W.  L.  Jacobs. 

"The  Harvester,"  David  Langston,  is  a  man  of  the  woods  ard 
fields,  who  draws  his  living  from  the  prodigal  hand  of  Mothei 
Nature  herself.  If  the  book  had  nothing  in  it  but  the  splendid  figure 
of  this  man  it  would  be  notable.  But  when  the  Girl  comes  to  his 
"Medicine  Woods,"  and  the  Harvester's  whole  being  realizes  that 
this  is  the  highest  point  of  life  which  has  come  to  him — there  begins 
a  romance  of  the  rarest  idyllic  quality. 
FRECKLES,  Decorations  by  E.  Stetson  Crawford. 

Freckles  is  a  nameless  waif  when  the  tale  opens,  but  the  way  ^n 
which  he  takes  hold  of  life;  the  nature  friendships  he  forms  in  the 
ercat  Limberlost  Swamp;  the  manner  in  which  everyone  who  meets 
him  succumbs  to  the  charm  of  his  engaging  personality;  and  bit 
'love-story  with  "The  Angel"  are  full  of  rf>al  sentiment. 
A  GIRL  OF  THE  LIMBERLOST. 
illustrated  by  Wladyslaw  T.  Brenda. 

The  story  of  a  girl  of  the  Michigan  woods;  a  buoyant  lovaul* 
type  of  the  self-reliant  American.  Her  philosophy  is  one  of  love  and 
iandness  towards  all  things;  her  hope  is  never  dimmed.  And  by  the 
•beer  beauty  of  her  soul,  and  the  purity  of  her  vision,  she  wins  front, 
barren  and  unpromising  surroundings  those  rewards  of  high  courage 
AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW. 
^lustrations  in  colors  by  Oliver  Kemp. 

The  scene  of  this  charming  love  story  is  laid  in  Central  indiam» 
The  story  is  one  of  devoted  friendship,  and  tender  self -sacrificing 
ove.  The  novel  is  brimful  of  the  most  beautiful  word  painting  o? 
latttre,  and  its  pathos  and  tender  sentiment  will  endear  it  to  all. 


GROSSET  &  DUNLAF,     PUBLISHERS,     NEW  YCRK 


MYRTLE  REED'S  NOVELS 


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LAVENDER  AND  OLD  LACE. 

A  charming  story  of  a  quaint  corner  of 
New  England  where  bygone  romance  finds  a 
modern  parallel  The  story  centers  round 
the  coming  of  love  to  the  young  people  on 
the  staff  of  a  newspaper— and  it  is  one  of  the 
prettiest,  sweetest  and  quaintest  of  old  fash- 
ioned love  stories,  *  *  *  a  rare  book,  ex- 
quisite in  spirit  and  conception,  full  of 
delicate  fancy,  of  tenderness,  of  delightful 
humor  and  spODtaniety. 


A  SPINNER  IN  THE  SUN. 

Miss  Myrtle  Reed  may  always  be  depended  upon  to  write  a  strry 
in  which  poetry,  charm,  tenderness  and  humor  are  combined  into  a 
clever  and  entertaining  book.  Her  characters  are  delightful  and  she 
always  displays  a  quaint  humor  of  expression  and  a  quiet  feeling  of 
pathos  which  give  a  touch  of  active  realism  to  all  her  writings,  in 
"A  Spinner  in  the  Sun"  she  tells  an  old-fashioned  love  story,  of  a 
veiled  lady  who  lives  in  solitude  and  whose  features  her  neighbors 
have  never  seen.  There  is  a  mystery  at  th  :  heart  of  the  book  thai 
throws  over  it  the  glamour  of  romance, 

TOE  MASTER'S  VIOLIN, 

A  love  story  in  a  musical  atmosphere.  A  picturesque,  old  Ger- 
man virtuoso  is  the  reverent  possessor  of  a  genuine  "Cremona."  He 
•consents  to  take  for  his  pupil  a  handsome  youth  who  proves  to  have 
an  aptitude  for  technique,  but  not  the  soul  of  an  artist  The  youth 
has  led  the  liappy,  careless  lif  e  of  a  modern,  well-to-do  young  Amer« 
lean  and  he  cannot,  with  his  meagre  past,  express  the  love,  the  passion 
tnd  the  tragedies  of  life  and  all  its  happy  phases  as  can  the  master 
who  has  lived  life  in  all  its  fulness.  But  a  girl  comes  into  his  life-—  a 
beautiful  bit  of  human  driftwood  that  his  aunt  had  taken  into  her 
heart  and  home,  and  through  his  passionate  love  for  her,  he  learns 
the  lessons  that  life  has  to  give—  and  his  soul  awakes. 

founded  on  a  fact  that  all  artists  realize. 


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DRAMATIZED    NOVELS 

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WITHIN  THE  LAW.     By  Bayard  Veffler  &  Marvin  Dana. 
Illustrated  by  Wm.  Charles  Cooke. 

This  is  a  novelization  of  the  immensely  successful  play  which  raQ 
for  two  years  in  New  York  and  Chicago. 

The  plot  of  this  powerful  novel  is  of  a  young  woman's  revenge 
directed  against  her  employer  who  allowed  her  to  be  sent  to  prison 
for  three  years  on  a  charge  of  theft,  of  which  she  was  innocent. 

WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  MARY.     By  Robert  Carlton  Brown. 
Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 

This  is  a  narrative  of  a  young  and  innocent  country  girl  who  is 
Suddenly  thrown  into  the  very  heart  of  New  York,  "the  land  of  her 
dreams,"  where  she  is  exposed  to  all  sorts  of  temptations  and  dangers. 

The  story  of  Mary  is  being  told  *u  moving  pictures  and  played  in 
theatres  all  over  the  world. 

THE  RETURN  OF  PETER  GKfMM.      By  David  Belasco. 
Illustrated  by  John  Kae, 

This  is  a  novelization  of  the  popular  play  in  which  David  War, 
field,  as  Old  Peter  Grimm,  scored  such  a  remarkable  success. 

The  story  is  spectacular   and  extremely  pathetic  but  withal, 
powerful,  both  as  a  book  and  as  a  play. 
THE  GARDEN  OF  ALLAH.    By  Robert  Hichens. 

This  novel  is  an  intense,  glowing  epic  of  the  great  desert,  sunlit 
barbaric,  with  its  marvelous  atmosphere  of  vastness  and  loneliness, 

It  is  a  book  of  rapturous  beauty,  vivid  in  word  painting.    The  play 
has  been  staged  with  magnificent  cast  and  gergeous  properties. 
BFN    HUR.    A  Tale  of  the  Christ.    By  General  Lew  Wallace. 

The  whole  world  has  placed  this  famous  Religious-Historical  Ro- 
mance on  a  height  of  pre-eminence  which  no  other  novel  of  its  tune 
has  reached.  The  clashing  of  rivalry  and  the  deepest  human  passions, 
the  perfect  reproduction  of  brilliant  Roman  life,  and  tb";  tense,  fierce 
atmosphere  of  the  arena  have  kept  their  deep  fascination,  A  tre- 
mendous dramatic  success. 

BOUGHT  AKD  PAID  FOR.     By  George  Broadhurst  and  Arthur 
Hornblow.          Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  stupendous  arraignment  of  modern  marriage  which  has  created 
an  interest  on  the  stage  that  is  almost  unparalleled.  The  scenes  are  laid 
in  New  York,  and  deal  with  conditions  among  both  the  rich  and  poor. 

The  interest  of  the  story  turns  on  the  day-by-day  developments 
which  show  the  young  wife  the  price  she  has  pafcL _ 

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(H241slO)476B 


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